


A Game Of Gobstones

by MuggleWitch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2018-08-31 04:49:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 251,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8564695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuggleWitch/pseuds/MuggleWitch
Summary: Sequel to my first story 'Educating Elena':Several months after his mysterious survival, tables and tabloids are turning against Severus Snape. He faces a conspiracy, legal troubles and has no reason to be in a good mood. And then there's a capricious woman to consider … This is all about the big question: can there be happiness for Snape?





	1. Severus Goes Shopping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My original intention was to make this about the same length as 'Educating Elena', but since I tend to get caught up in details of character development and relationships, I can see by now that it's going to be much longer and a 'slow burner'. Anyway - I'm interested in what you think as the story develops and any comments, suggestions and critique will be very welcome!

**Severus goes Shopping**

  

“Are you sure this one’s right for me?”

With a look of suspicion, Severus Snape inspected the wand in his hands. It was an eyesore, looking more like a short tree branch than a wand, its wood scarred and knobbly.

“It doesn’t matter what I’m thinking”, Garrick Ollivander replied reasonably. He was leaning against the counter in his shop where at least two dozen open boxes were piled up, a testimony to almost an hour of intense search. “The wand chooses the wizard, as you very well know. – And this one seems to have chosen you.”

Snape issued an unconvinced snarl. Sure enough, the wand had responded to him. However, he didn’t like the way its rough surface felt in his hand. On top of that … “It’s bloody ugly.”

Ollivander’s eyebrows went up. “One for aesthetics, are you?”

Snape shot him a dirty look. He was quite sure he knew what the old man was thinking – something along the lines of ‘ugly wizard, ugly wand – what’s the problem?’ – but Ollivander hastened to make a friendly face.

“I assure you, Professor Snape, this is a very old and powerful wand. It has rested in my family’s stores for centuries, always waiting for the right wizard to find it, always disappointed. It may not be pretty … but then it was made in a time that was not influenced by superficiality so much. I daresay it will take you a while to get used to it, but you won’t regret the choice. In the end, you will find it to be grateful for having been reawakened to life.”

Reawakened – just like himself, when he should really have been dead, bitten by a snake that was really a Horcrux and bled out in the Shrieking Shack. Severus saw the parallel that Ollivander was playing at and he shook the wand again dispiritedly. It obliged him by ejecting a shower of dancing stars. However, he imagined he felt a marked resistance, a recalcitrance, as if the wand, rather than being eager to serve at last, resented having been ripped from its century-old sleep in a box. Snape sighed, over the loss of his old wand – which had been snapped in half a few weeks ago by a wizard who’d been out to kill him (not the first, surely, and maybe not the last) – and over the prospect of having to get used to a new one, particularly one which he felt he had to prove his worth to.

“It’s not so unlike your old wand”, Ollivander eagerly went into sales talk, “that one was fir, too, if I remember correctly?”

Snape considered the old man. Did he really remember him at age eleven, coming here with his mother shortly before the start of his first year at Hogwarts? But then, that was exactly what everybody said about Garrick Ollivander – that he neither ever forgot a wand nor the wizard or witch he’d sold it to.

“Fir with dragon heartstring”, Ollivander went on as if to prove his point, “twelve-and-a-half inches, unyielding.”

Snape was impressed, but did his best to hide it. “It was very different from this one”, he remarked instead. “Elegant, smooth … until someone destroyed it.” These last words he spat.

“Which means that the time has come for you to get used to a new wand”, said Ollivander, a soothing note in his voice. “Believe me, Professor, wands are more connected to individual fate than you might believe. You lost your old one, and I sympathize with how sorely you must miss it. The wand, after all, is our third arm, isn’t it? But you should get used to the thought that a new phase might be starting in your life. And a new wand is certainly the most potent symbol you can get for that.”

Severus twitched, for various reasons, none of which he would have gone into. “The only thing this has in common with my old wand is the fir wood”, he went on instead, sounding petulant.

“Obvious choice for Capricorn”, Ollivander replied in a business-like manner. “You _are_ a Capricorn, aren’t you? Born on January … eighth or ninth?”

“Ninth”, Snape said quickly, again marvelling at the man’s memory.

“So there is a constant. The switch from dragon heartstring to phoenix feather may be unusual, but not unheard-of, especially for an owner that has undergone … great and life-changing upheaval. Also, the altered rigidity may suggest a similar change, an increasing open-mindedness, a softening brought on by true wisdom …”

This was getting too close to the core – and sounded too much like mollycoddling, as well – so Severus grunted dismissively and changed the subject. He might have gone from an unyielding to a pliable wand, but he was as disinclined as ever to talk about his private live. “I’ve been using this wand for the past two weeks”, he said and got out Elena’s companion that he had been carrying around with him ever since that night in the lighthouse which they had not expected to survive, but had somehow managed to get out of. “Surprisingly, it works quite nicely for me. Probably because of the dragon heartstring.” He played around with it. “Nice to the touch, as well.”

Ollivander merely gave that wand a quick survey. “Yew with dragon heartstring, nine-and-a-half inches, swishy”, he rattled off, “sold a few months ago to a young woman who had only just learnt that she was a witch …”

“By your logic”, Snape broke in, again forestalling the conversation to go into too private a direction, “it shouldn’t work for me as well as it does.”

“Fir and yew are as compatible as Capricorn and Taurus are”, Ollivander explained with a nonchalant shrug, “earth signs, both of them. – Wand magic is complicated, Professor, and it has strong emotional ties. This makes it so difficult to explain why one wand works well for a wizard while the other one doesn’t. My father, you see, he used to believe that a little _eros_ was in play here, too. ‘For a wizard, to touch the wand that is made for him is like touching the body of the woman he desires …’” Ollivander chuckled. “He wouldn’t tell this to his customers, though. Not then, anyway, people were far too prudish in those times … yet, what my father said reflects very well the almost intimate nature of a wizard’s relationship with his wand.”

Quite in spite of himself, Snape said nothing, merely tried hard to keep himself from staring at the wandmaker. Ollivander’s words had conjured up images in his mind. A slim waist above wide hips, shaped as perfectly as a violin, over which his own thin fingers ran, savouring the texture of smooth skin, every pore, every tiny goose bump … moon-lit skin and set against it the dark dip of navel, circling, like a belly-dancer’s … He felt the heat rise in his face and he turned away abruptly, played around with the new wand that hadn’t started to feel any better in his hand.

“Alright then”, he breathed, “I’ll take this one. If you insist that it is right for me …”

“It’s not me who’s insisting”, Ollivander said with a bright smile, “it’s the wand.”

Snape waved this information away and asked for the price. Ollivander named it which made Snape blow up his cheeks in exasperation. The wand might be old and ugly, but there was certainly nothing old-fashioned about the cost. With a sigh, he got out a leather pouch from his robes pocket and put a pile of coins on the counter. The pouch felt considerably lighter when he put it back into the folds of his robes. “This better be good”, he snarled after he had pocketed the new wand.

“Be sure to exercise it”, Garrick Ollivander reminded him, “an old wand may sometimes need a little prodding. However, a wizard of your status … I bet you like a challenge, Professor Snape?”

Severus hated to admit that anyone could ever manipulate him. Yet, every time reference was made to his powers as a wizard he felt something inside him go soft, vain and foolish as that might be. “I will do my best”, he said stiffly.

“And Ms Horwath will certainly be glad to have her wand back”, Ollivander said as if it was a matter of course and with only a very fine smile. “That _is_ her name, isn’t it? Your student’s? You sent her here for getting her first wand.”

“Yes, yes”, Snape murmured impatiently, “where else?”

“And she _is_ a Taurus, isn’t she? Seventh May?”

“I believe so”, was the curt response. “You _do_ have quite a memory.”

“Only with what’s connected to wands”, Ollivander replied modestly. “In other realms, it has become quite useless. Age, you know … - there _is_ a thing I remember, however …” The old man looked up at Snape thoughtfully. “I’ve read it in the _Prophet_. – Haven’t you a hearing coming up shortly?”

Snape’s eyebrows drew together. “Yes …”

Garrick Ollivander shook his head sympathetically. “What a bother that must be. You know, there’s some things going on in the magical world right now which I don’t like at all …”

“What d’you mean?” The question from the younger man came like a whip and he eyed the wandmaker calculatingly.

“There is an _esprit de temps_ coming through which is so eager to create a new world that it already disregards the recent past.”

“That is … spoken very generally”, Severus remarked.

“Of course”, another wan smile, “it has not yet made itself felt very much. Only between the lines. The _Prophet’s_ , _Witch Weekly_ ’s, and life’s. There, however, you can see it clearly.”

Snape knew what Ollivander meant, but he had no wish to enter into a conversation on abstract concepts. “That hearing is not between the lines”, he said tersely. “It is very concrete, and unnecessary, if I can say that without coming over too villainous.”

The latter was meant to be ironic, but the wandmaker scoffed in a friendly manner. “Since when have you ever cared about that, Professor?” Then he became serious. “It is an unusual thing – arranging a hearing at the Wizengamot which will be open to the press and to a limited extent to the public, as well. Makes it sound more like a trial.”

‘Exactly’, Snape thought darkly, ‘and that’s precisely the effect that they’re going for.’ But again, he didn’t comment.

“Quite unheard of”, Ollivander continued his musings, “why do you think they’re doing it in that manner?”

Severus had a number of answers to that. Common curiosity, the wish to drag him out into the open and parade him in front of the wizarding world, to ask all the questions they had always wanted to ask and to rake up muck. “The inquiry concerns a recent mishap I’ve run into”, he explained instead and as impassively as he managed.

Ollivander eyed him and frowned. “I hope for you that this is all it is going to be about.”

The two men exchanged a glance. It was enough for both of them to understand that the other thought exactly the same.

For days now, the impending hearing had been mentioned regularly in the wizarding world’s dailies, the anticipated event at which Severus Snape would give – would _have_ to give – testimony on his dealings with one Pavel Leshnikov, now presumed dead. How Leshnikov had hired two thugs to kill Snape. How he had ingratiated himself with and finally kidnapped Elena Horwath – who had stumbled into the whole mess like the literal fool – all with the purpose of getting Severus out of his safety zone and face the man who had set his teeth on edge for weeks and months by writing threatening letters in blood. There had been a lot of newspaper reports on Leshnikov recently, and certainly the magical world wanted to know more about him, learn about his deeds, his powers and how he had managed to challenge and pull one over Severus Snape of all people. Even more than that, they wanted to see the wizard who had inspired such brutality and who, incidentally, was also the man who had killed Albus Dumbledore and been the right hand of Lord Voldemort … It didn’t need a lot of imagination to guess in what direction the general mood was going. Somehow, this Severus Snape always seemed to get involved into some dodgy mess or other, so maybe he deserved it? Maybe he even caused it? Everybody knew what a grump the man was. A cold and evil bastard, waiting out his time to see which way the wind was blowing and then, at the last moment, tagging himself onto ‘The Good’ embodied in the mystical figure of Dumbledore. The tale of Snape, the Silent Hero, who’d saved the day had fascinated the masses for a while. The rumours of an unrequited love might even have moved some of them. However, Albus Dumbledore was gone, Lily Potter was gone and the Golden Trio was looking to build a life of their own. And there was Snape, sour and ugly as ever. An eyesore – very much like his new wand – and not really fit material for legends. So why not embarrass him a bit? And who knew? A good enough reason might come up to get him into serious trouble, to lock him away even …

Severus didn’t think that such thoughts were paranoid. He knew very well that he lacked any endearing characteristics and that bravery did nothing to change that. In almost forty years of being disliked and shied away from, he had made himself get used to it, persuaded himself that he didn’t want anyone’s respect and recognition. Thus, he had built a persona that pushed people away before they could get close enough to withdraw in disgust or hurt. In other words, in trying to protect himself, he had only enhanced the original problem of the blunt and socially inept boy he had once been. Locking him away certainly wouldn’t mean a loss to society.

In past years – past decades, to be precise – he had sometimes tried to imagine himself imprisoned. Azkaban had, after all, been a valid possibility, especially after the first wizarding war. He had been afraid of it, of course, but forced himself to think it through and finally decided that he would probably have been able to manage. Withdraw into his mind, most of the time, so as not to let the Dementors affect him too much, retreating into the office in his brain, to imaginary books and cauldrons, and Lily would have been there, as well, to keep him company. Contrary to what most people thought of him, he _did_ have imagination and lived more in his inner world than in that surrounding him. He would not have been able to survive without this ability, neither physically nor emotionally.

These days, of course, imagination was working overtime. Or rather, it was a remembering and re-imagining. He tried to keep it at bay and himself busy, with work, with errands, with knowledge he crammed into his head. However, ‘the incident’ – as he privately termed it – would have its pound of flesh. Mostly at night and very frequently in the mornings, shortly after waking up. What went on in his mind then had nothing to do with Lily, but it made him feel – now more than ever – that he didn’t want to be locked away.

Of course, imprisonment was unlikely; at this point, anyway. Also, the hearing needn’t develop into anything larger, graver. Maybe it was as Remus Lupin had said, ‘only an opportunity for the wizarding world to indulge their curiosity’. The abominable werewolf had also made it clear that he considered Snape’s reserve to be the cause for said curiosity. “If you had helped sooner in finding the Death Eaters still at large, the attitude towards you would be entirely different now.” Another I-told-you-so guy. Great.

Yet, he was probably right, as Severus reluctantly admitted, though only to himself. He hadn’t improved his situation by lying low after his unexpected survival from Nagini’s bite. And from a man like him – who’d played spy for years and juggled formidable wizards on a daily basis – the excuse of ‘having been confused and unable to act rationally’ would certainly sound a little lame. Yet, Severus knew that he could never have acted in any other way. Joining the wizarding world in its state of celebration after the victory would have been horror to him. Yes, he should have shown himself at the Ministry for a little talk. But even if he had, there was no doubt that he would have gone back ‘into his hole’ immediately afterwards. This was how he was made, what he could and would not change as it was far too late for that. He would always have gone into hiding at Spinner’s End, consuming unnecessary amounts of Fire Whiskey to make himself tired and ready to sleep in the evenings, and one day opening the door to a Muggle girl, unlikely as it seemed.

So many things had changed, and at the same time nothing at all. He looked down at his hands and found that he was still playing with the yew wand. Which reminded him of Olivander who was still standing there, watching Severus with a curious expression on his face.

“Lost in thought?” the wandmaker said kindly.

Snape twitched. “I should leave. – I’ll let you know about the wand and will not hesitate to bring it back if it doesn’t turn out well. Which I strongly suspect. In that case, I’ll expect a full refund.”

“Of course, Professor”, Ollivander replied with a benign smile. “I’m sure, however, that your new wand will find in you the strong hand that it yearns for.”

A sugar-coated way of saying that he should buck up and be a wizard about it, as Snape understood very well. He gave the wandmaker a haughty look and turned towards the shop door.

Ollivander cleared his throat. “Best of luck to you, Professor”, he said. “And might I just mention … in my eyes, what you did was heroic. The way you put your life on the line for years … not a lot of men have this kind of courage.”

Severus scowled – it was his usual way of reacting to praise which he distrusted, especially when it was paid to his person. However, he couldn’t quite shake a certain warm feeling towards the man.

He nodded curtly, murmured “Good day to you then” – which wasn’t meant as awkwardly as it came out – and left the shop.

 


	2. An Angry Young Man

**An Angry Young Man**

 

Ollivander’s had been an island of silence in a sea of noise. Back on the street, voices filled Severus’ ears and for a few moments he stood unmoving on the doorstep. Warily he watched the throngs of people walking up and down Diagon Alley, all of them, in spite of the cold November drizzle, in that contented chatty shopping mood that he had never been able to share. Severus was reluctant to join in and let himself be swept along by a river of moving bodies. And before he did, he would have to brace himself. Physical closeness to strangers always made him feel on edge, as if anything might happen the next moment, someone might turn on him, for instance, hating and abusing him the second they set eyes on him, just like it had always been, from the minute he had first been able to observe it. Lately, he had been asking himself whether the animosity of others had been there before his own distrust – as he had always assumed without question, his experience backing up the assumption – or vice versa.

It was a new line of thought. He’d had a few of those recently. Time quality had changed, and he frequently found himself looking at the course of life around him with a mild sense of wonder. It didn’t change the fact, though, that he still saw other people chiefly as potential adversaries. It made him feel exhausted and frustrated. He needed a break.

But how would such a break look like? He didn’t know. He didn’t even know whether it would – or should, or could – have anything to do with Elena. That subject, how ever much it might delight his mind and senses in the rare hours he allowed it, was wrought with difficulty. Uncertainty, impossibility, even. And although Severus Snape was usually pretty proud of his mental faculties, he hadn’t even started to figure that one out.

Jump into the river, then? He still couldn’t bring himself to move, his limbs seemed to obey his nether self. Lately, he felt too exhausted to exert an awful lot of his famed self-control. Instead, he turned his face upward, stared into the grey-clouded sky and found it surprisingly soothing.

“Don’t worry, Professor”, an amused voice said, “they’re too afraid of you to bite you.”

Snape wheeled around, a ferocious scowl on his face. The next second, however, the sour expression dropped and gave way to one of surprise. Standing in front of him was a young man whose pointed face was half-hidden under an overgrown fringe of white-blond hair. He wore well-tailored clothes and a mischievous grin. It was like a vision from the past.

“Draco.”

For the fraction of a second, he’d been tempted to say ‘Lucius’. The resemblance had never been so poignant. Severus felt as if transported back through time to the point when an elegant young wizard had appraised him from head to toe and said, “Alright, let’s make a wizard out of you.” Snape had resented the words then, feeling that he was very much a wizard already. However, Lucius Malfoy had not been perturbed and subsequently invested a lot of time teaching his young friend how to behave like a pure-blood, how to talk right, how to dress and to conduct himself – lessons sorely needed by a boy with the conversational skills of a stunned bat and no manners to speak of. And of course, when the time had come, Lucius had made that crucial introduction to a dark wizard who would forever change Severus’ life ...

Snape surveyed Draco, very much like the boy’s father had once done with him, however, the outcome of his observation was very different. Draco certainly didn’t have to be told how to act the part of the only heir to the Malfoy estate. Yet, he was changed. The label ‘boy’ no longer applied. The squared shoulders had gained in span and perfected an appearance of self-assurance. At the same time, the constant spoilt pout – which Severus had assumed was permanently etched into Draco’s visage – had almost gone, the only sign of persisting arrogance being the slight sneer around the corners of his mouth. The manliness became him, and in spite of the rat face he looked handsome.

“It’s good to see you”, the young man said with a smile that Snape knew was kind by Malfoy standards, although most would have described it as stand-offish. “And it’s been a while.”

“Indeed.”

How long exactly? More than six months. It felt like considerably more. In the meantime, a war had ended, the dead had been buried and lives started over. The last time Snape had seen Draco, the latter had been sullen and recalcitrant, resenting Snape for being the Dark Lord’s favourite while his father had fallen from grace. There had been something different in his eyes, as well; suspicion, shame, disgust; feelings plainly visible in Draco’s face ever since that fateful night when Severus had stood on top of the Astronomy tower and cast the _Avada Kedavra_ at Albus Dumbledore. Draco had hated himself because he hadn’t been able to do the deed, and at the same time the man who had accomplished it in his stead. That hatred had hurt Severus sorely, more than he could have expected. However, it had also been very clear to him what it meant: that Draco was not lost, that inside him lived a natural abhorrence of violence and death – no matter how much he had tried to cover it up with juvenile bravado – so that he could not look the man in the eyes who had killed the greatest wizard of their times. As a result, Snape’s hurt had been mixed with relief and he was used to live on such scraps.

Now, however, he became increasingly aware of the amused smirk on Draco’s face and raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“Is that all you have to say?” Draco asked. “After all this time?”

“What did you expect?” Snape shot back. “That I’ve suddenly become a small-talker?”

Draco chuckled. “Hardly. – More something in the way of ‘How have you been, Draco?’”

Snape gave an ironic little smile. “Well then, how have you been, Draco?”

“Don’t ask.”

“You asked me to ask.”

“No. I said I expected it. Doesn’t mean I really like to answer that question.”

“Are you being deliberately obstinate?”

Draco looked down at the tips of his expensive dragon-hide boots and smiled ruefully. “No”, he said, “but I presume as in your case it is difficult to answer that briefly.”

Snape sighed inwardly. “How are your parents, then?”

“No idea. Haven’t seen them in weeks.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep. I moved out.”

“Out of Malfoy Manor?” Severus found it hard to keep the amazement out of his voice and he turned fully towards Draco now, signifying attention.

“That’s what young people ought to do, isn’t it? Leave the nest?”

“I bet they don’t like it much.”

“They hate it”, Draco replied coolly. “But it had to happen. And yet in spite of this the news in my life are hardly as thrilling as in yours.”

“Meaning?”

Draco gave a snort, but it was friendly. “Are you kidding me, Professor? First thing we heard, you were dead. Second thing we heard, you had risen. Then you were attacked, then again, and almost burned to death. It seems to me that since the war, your life has been quite a drama.” He looked up at Snape innocently. “Or a _soap opera_ , as the Muggles would say.”

“Since when have you been into Muggle jargon?”

If Severus had expected to irk Draco with that comment, he was proven wrong. The young man merely shrugged and gave another scallywag grin. “Hardly surprising, seeing that I live in a Muggle place now.”

“You don’t say.” Draco must have him on. There was no other possibility. However, the pretty rat face was serious.

“Yeah. Since I had to get out from home, I thought I might as well try something entirely new.”

“I’m intrigued”, Snape admitted.

“It’s certainly a departure from the usual. Even my dad admits that.” Draco cast a critical look at the throngs of people passing the wandmaker’s shop. “I’ll tell you all about it if you like. But not here.”

Severus watched the younger man intently. He had a rare intuition at that moment, as if this chance meeting wasn’t as random as he would have believed. He saw a glimmer in Draco’s eyes, an eagerness. “Are you suggesting something?”

Draco smiled genuinely. “How about the ice-cream parlour?”

Snape hesitated. The last time he had frequented the late Florean Fortescue’s ice-cream parlour he’d been fourteen and accompanied by Lily. She had paid, very much to his embarrassment, because unlike him she’d had pocket money. Otherwise it had been a fine occasion, though, one of the last high-points of their friendship. Since then, he had begun to feel that his presence in such a place was somehow incongruous. “It’s a little cold for that, don’t you think?” He frowned at the heavy November clouds.

“They have a tea room”, Draco explained. “It’s actually quite cosy. – Shall we go?”

Again, the eagerness. The boy who was no longer a boy wanted to talk.

After another moment of hesitation, Severus nodded curtly. He pulled at the hood of his cloak, for anonymity, and followed Draco.

“What did you do at old Ollivander’s?” Draco asked lightly, probably sensing Snape’s discomfort in crowds.

“What does one do at Ollivander’s? – I got a new wand.”

“Yeah?”

“My old one got broken. Now I’ve got _this_.” He produced the eyesore and scowled at it.

“Ouch”, murmured Draco.

“Exactly. – But the old man insists it’s the right one for me.”

“Maybe the war has made him dotty.”

“The idea crossed my mind.”

“It looks very ancient, though. Might be more to it than meets the eye.”

“There’s always hope.”

Florean Fortescue’s ice-cream parlour was only a short walk away. It was pretty crowded indoors – making Snape shrink inwardly – but the moment they arrived a family got up from their table and Draco seized the opportunity. Snape glided after him like a ghost and felt eyes piercing his back. People stared, and when he met their gaze darkly from under his hood, they looked away hastily. – Some things would never change.

A waitress came and took their orders. They didn’t talk for a couple of minutes, both at a loss on how to start a conversation after all this time and after all that had happened. Of course, it was Draco who finally picked up the thread.

“So I got this little place in Chelsea”, he said in a conversational tone that was so much part of the Malfoy lifestyle that it hardly sounded laboured. “It’s not half bad. At least the Muggles living there know a thing or two about style …”

“Chelsea”, repeated Snape, with a snort in his voice.

“Yeah, it’s cool. There’s a Swedish fashion model living next door. – It was a bit of a hassle to get the flat ‘cause the landlord would only accept Muggle money, but Mundungus Fletcher helped me out with that …”

“You let _Mundungus Fletcher_ help you out?”

“Why not? You can say what you want about the guy, but he knows his way around in both worlds. And my parents wouldn’t have helped me even if I had asked them. Which I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“’Cause they would have done everything to keep me at home. As it was, I left in a kind of cloak-and-dagger operation. I was gone before they noticed.”

“Why would you do that?”

“It was simply too much.” Draco rolled his eyes. “All this fussing and protecting …”

“I daresay they were relieved to have you back home safe and sound.”

“Probably. But the relief was starting to get on my nerves.”

“It’s how parents behave”, Snape said reasonably, although his parents had certainly never behaved in any such way.

“Yeah, well, they can do it without me.”

Estranged, then? Severus wasn’t surprised. Considering everything the Malfoys had had to endure in the last two years at the hands of the Dark Lord, an upsetting of the familial balance was only natural. In addition, it certainly wouldn’t hurt Draco to be on his own for a bit, find himself, become his own man. Snape silently congratulated him on the decision, but at the same time he couldn’t help feeling a pang of pity for Narcissa and Lucius. Yet, he was starting to see why Draco was so keen on talking to him. He probably felt adrift, and was looking for guidance. “Why a _Muggle place_?” Severus asked eventually, because the detail still puzzled him. “ _You_ , of all people? Forgive me, but the gesture seems a tad … dramatic.”

“Maybe.” Draco stared down at the crisp white linen on the table. A few seconds passed before he spoke again. “You see, after that night … in the Astronomy Tower … I didn’t like myself very much.” When Draco looked up again, his pale grey eyes were unsteady. “Never happened to me before, believe it or not. I used to like myself _very much_.”

Another pause. Snape waited patiently, his eyes on the younger man’s face, a face that suddenly looked strained.

“Everything fell apart”, Draco went on. “Everything I believed in. Everything my parents _made me_ believe in. All wrong, a big-ass mistake.”

“Your parents taught you what they were convinced of”, Severus reminded him, but Draco raised an impatient hand.

“I don’t really want to talk about what my parents did right or wrong”, he said coldly. “Fact is, after Dumbledore died I found it difficult to live with myself. Increasingly so. And after the victory, I couldn’t _stand_ myself!” The last words came out passionately. “Something had to happen. I didn’t know what. And then, suddenly, it occurred to me. I wanted to do something that was entirely unexpected. Also, I wanted to be my own man. I needed a complete break, you see?”

Snape scrutinized Draco’s regular features that looked fierce in this moment. “Hence, Chelsea”, he said with a very slight scoff.

“Hence, Chelsea”, Draco confirmed and the crooked grin re-appeared on his face. “So far, I haven’t regretted it. Actually, I enjoy it.”

“You _are_ aware of the fact that decisions taken in order to wind someone up – your parents, for instance – are not exactly independent?”

“Yeah, maybe”, Draco made a dismissive gesture, “but imaging the look on my father’s face when he heard was worth it. I bet he was so stunned he didn’t know what to say.”

“Projecting all your woes onto a scapegoat is not exactly independent, either.”

Draco shot him a look that, had he been a girl, would have been best described as ‘bitchy’. For a few moments, he was the spoilt brat again and looked more like Narcissa than Lucius. “Ever the teacher, huh?” he pressed forth behind his teeth.

“I’m just trying to warn you off a common mistake people make by taking the easy path in blaming others instead of looking for their own part in any given crisis”, Severus replied in his silkiest voice. “No doubt you will insist on learning this the hard way, but yes, I _am_ a teacher and so it is my duty to make at least a humble attempt.”

“Why don’t _you_ take that hood down already”, Draco hissed back, “people are staring at you – but maybe that’s the effect you are going for? Being a hero now and all that?”

Grey eyes and black eyes locked, then Snape sighed and brushed the hood off his head. Stealthily he tried to ignore the new round of dirty looks and the whispers he imagined to hear behind his back. “That hero thing only lasted for a few weeks”, he snarled quietly. “The present mood is entirely different, I can tell you.”

“So I’ve heard”, Draco said darkly.

The tense situation was lightened by the arrival of the waitress who brought them their tea and a complementary plate of biscuits. The young woman didn’t appear to be at all interested in them, just put down the cups with a grumpy expression on her face, said “There you are, gentlemen” and took off.

There was a pause of almost two minutes before Draco spoke again.

“I still get the _Prophet_ ”, he said, sounding concerned. “And I read about that hearing. – When’s it going to take place?”

“In four days”, Snape replied. “The idiots kept postponing it, ostensibly to ‘collect evidence’, but really to make the event more sensational. I am to serve as entertainment, now that the Victory has become stale news.” Bitter sarcasm was dripping off his words. However, the reason for that was a little different from what he admitted to. What had really angered him about the postponements was the fact that they kept him from seeing Elena. It had been put to him that he should not meet her until after the hearing so as not to be able to come to an understanding about their respective testimonies. Snape knew that in the Muggle world surveillance was a much-discussed and frowned-upon concept. In the magical world, it was a reality easily ensured by watch-wards[1] installed to monitor compliance. And complied he had.

Draco looked doubtful. “I don’t know”, he said after a while, “there may be more to it than that.”

Severus glared. “What do you mean by that?”

At first, Draco said nothing, sipping his hot Earl Grey gingerly. “Ever since I moved out from home, I am not so up to date anymore. However, when I was still living at Malfoy Manor, we were approached twice …”

“ _Approached_?”

“By Ministry guys”, Draco explained. “They worked for this old geezer that’s been chasing Death Eaters for decades … my mother mentioned his name … Ansgard Periwinkle?”

Snape’s scowl darkened. He had certainly heard the name before. “What did they want?”

“Talk to my father. – Mother was completely freaked out. She was certain that they were going to take him away, put him in jail for … well, you know. But they didn’t. They just wanted to chat.”

“About what?”

“My father didn’t want to talk about it. He said it was only idiotic humbug. You see, my father is not interested in much else than Fire Whiskey these days.”

In spite of the dire subject, Severus had to keep himself from smiling at the Ogden’s parallel, for he, too, had practically lived on the stuff shortly after the victory and his mysterious survival.

“My mom found out more after a while”, Draco went on. “Obviously, they wanted to talk about old stories. Some attack. The McKinnon thing?” The grey eyes searched Snape’s face which remained impassive. “And they wanted to know about you.”

“What exactly?”

However, Draco shook his head. “I don’t know. Nor does my mother. But it appears that my father sent them on their way, telling them that he would rather choke to death than ever mention your name again.”

Snape digested that. It wasn’t really a surprise. Only weeks after his survival, Lucius had sent him a spiteful owl, severing all ties with his erstwhile friend on the grounds of the latter’s betrayal. Yet, to hear that Lucius still held on to his grudge was distinctly painful.

“Are you shocked?” Draco wanted to now.

“About your father’s feelings towards me?” Snape gave a wan smile. “Not really. He wrote me an owl, you know.”

“Yes, I do know. Probably while he was completely plastered, as happens pretty often lately.”

“It’s called delayed shock.”

“Or sulking.”

“You should be a little more sympathetic.”

“And he should buck up!” Draco said with badly supressed anger. “It’s undignified to be wallowing in self-pity like that. He’s a grown man, he should know about cause and effect!”

Snape sighed. “We all got into something the outcome of which we couldn’t possibly have foreseen ...”

But Draco cut him short. “Be that as it may. What I can’t stand anymore is how my entire life he told me that I was made to be a _bloody Death Eater_ …”

Abruptly, Snape raised an admonishing hand because Draco had got carried away, his voice becoming loud with anger. Already, people turned, stared at him, and it was a good guess that not a small number of them recognized him, the Malfoys having been prominent figures in the magical community. Draco took a deep breath and when he continued, it was in a frantic whisper.

“… that I was made to be Death Eater, that I was better because I was a pure-blood, that it was my intended role to lead and one day build a better future for witches and wizards … there were never any doubts for him that one day we would overcome that bloody Statute of Secrecy, that we would take what – according to him – was ours, and so I believed him. I never questioned him, in fact, ‘cause he was my dad and a formidable wizard, he couldn’t be completely wrong, could he? – Now it turns out that he _was_ wrong. Dead wrong. But instead of accepting it and being a man about it – as I’m trying to, _have_ to – he’s turned into a complete wimp and keeps drowning his sorrows in Ogden’s Old Fire Whiskey!”

“It’s been hard on him. Azkaban. No one can ignore an experience like that, it’s enough to push any sane person over the edge. Just think of your aunt Bella …” Severus stopped himself because he remembered how much the boy had liked his mother’s crazy sister.

“Yeah, Bella.” A strange glitter appeared in Draco’s eyes. “She was quite something, wasn’t she?”

Snape merely gave a snort which was open for interpretation.

“And being killed by that squat matron Molly Weasley.” Draco shook his head, but with another crooked smile. “Never knew that woman had in in her …”

“War brings out the best and the worst.”

“That’s what my father says about you”, Draco challenged him with a calculating look.

Snape frowned. “And no doubt he thinks it brought out the worst in me”, he guessed.

Draco looked him straight in the eyes. “Well, if you really want to know: what my father resents is not that you betrayed old Tom. What he can’t understand is that even in those last two years when my father was at his lowest, you wouldn’t even give him a sign. Of your true allegiance. He says it would have made all the difference, it would have given him hope. Just one word, one look would have been enough!”

“Would, would, would”, snarled Snape. “You must realize that I could never have done that! It would have been too great a risk, I couldn’t foresee how your father might have reacted. And even if I had given him that sign, well … forgive me, but your father was never a very accomplished Occlumens. The Dark Lord could have extracted the information from him at any time, and effortlessly! If you knew just how many close shaves _I_ ’ve had over the years …”

“I don’t blame you”, Draco broke in. “Although I must admit that it was quite a shock to learn that you’d betrayed us all along. And for Potter’s _mom_ , at that! I mean – _seriously_??”

Snape didn’t reply to that, but stared Draco down instead, his black eyes cold. The younger man tried to meet the gaze, actually did quite a good job for a few seconds, before his eyes started to flicker and he looked away. Aware that he had won the staring contest, Severus’ voice was back to silky again. “Is this a chance encounter, Draco? Because I’m getting the feeling that you have sought me out. What for, exactly? To get your pound of flesh? To let me know how appalled you are by my actions? Because you should know that I’m not going to justify myself to you.”

To Snape’s surprise, Draco shook his head ferociously. “No. It’s not that.”

Severus quirked an inquisitive eyebrow, which made Draco take a deep breath.

“I wanted you to know …”, the young man started, wrenching the words from his throat, “that I don’t bear any grudges. In fact, I’m grateful to you. Believe it or not.”

“Whatever I did, it wasn’t to collect praise or gratefulness”, Snape replied haughtily.

“I know. You’re quite beyond that.” The sarcasm was on Draco’s side now, but then his expression became more vulnerable. “But I’m serious. What you’ve done … the Unbreakable Vow and all … I know you did everything to protect me. And you have. My mother feels the same way. To her, you’re the next thing to a saint.”

“And that is the reason why you contrived this meeting?” Snape asked doubtfully. “To tell me this?”

“No. – I wanted to meet you … in order to warn you.”

“ _Warn_ me?”

“Yes.” Draco leant forward a little and when he spoke again, his voice was once more a whisper. “Something’s brewing under the covers. It’s directed against you, and I think that you should be very, very careful.”

The words echoed in Snape’s head and he felt a stir in his guts. However, he made light and shrugged. “You’re not telling me anything new here. We have already spoken about the inquiry.”

“Oh, but that’s only one aspect of it”, Draco said quickly and gazed at Snape adamantly. “You see, there are rumours. And I know that quite a lot of people – especially in pure-blood circles – are seriously pissed off with you.”

“I’ve had ample evidence of that, too”, Snape said coolly. “One of those pissed-off people thrashed me up and planned to burn me alive with dragon fire less than two weeks ago. And guess what? I’m still here.”

“It’s part of a bigger picture”, Draco insisted. “I cannot tell you any specifics, because I don’t know. You moved in those circles long enough to be aware how such matters are played. Close to the chest, a word here, a quiet conversation there. No names, secret messages …”

“How do you know about all this?”

“Because my parents were approached about that, as well.” Draco waited a few seconds to let the revelation sink in.

“What are you saying?”

“Well, there was a very … oblique offer to take revenge on you. By messenger, of course. And conveyed in conversational code, but my mother says it was quite unambiguous. – If I remember correctly, the objective is to either get you into serious trouble or, at the very least, to ruin your reputation. Beyond repair.”

Snape stared at a point suspended in mid-air between him and Draco. The words _beyond repair_ echoed inside of him. The air was too thick for words.

Strangely, the only thought Severus had in this moment was of Elena. He realized that he longed to tell her about all this. Also, there was a feeling that if he did, he might feel better.

He shook himself out of the thought. “What was your parent’s reply?” he asked quietly and seemingly unfazed.

“Like I said. To my mother you’re a saint. She would never turn on you. And my father … I think he learnt his lesson well enough to stay out of dodgy situations and conspiracies of any kind. From what mother told me, he sent the messenger packing in much the same way as he did with the guys from the Ministry.”

Severus sighed. And there he’d been, hoping that after the Leshnikov affair and once that unnecessary hearing was finally over, he would be left in peace at last, be able to return to teaching and to a quiet life the highpoint of which would be to gaze in a pair of forest-green eyes … “I appreciate your concern, Draco”, he finally said. “However, I’m afraid I just have to let things play themselves out. After all, these are consequences of my past actions. I am able to deal with them.”

“Don’t take this lightly”, Draco insisted. “These are people who have a knack of getting to your weakest spot.”

Inwardly, Snape winced. Again, he thought of Elena. A witch of merely six months, with still very shaky powers. God damn it, how easier it would all be if he hadn’t met her! And how much less enchanting …

“Listen, Severus.”

Snape looked up sharply, a little miffed at the use of his first name. He was about to castigate Draco for it, but the boy was quicker and continued to talk in his lowest voice, almost hissing the words across the table.

“I’m going to help you”, he promised. “I’ll do whatever I can, you need only ask. The same goes for my mother. We owe you a lot.”

Snape controlled his facial muscles to keep the surprise out of his features. He also noticed that he was beginning to smile and quickly turned the reflex into feigned amusement.

“What do you think you might be able to do for me, Draco?”

An affronted look answered him. “I’m a Malfoy”, Draco said briskly. “I’m well-connected. – And you aren’t, if I remember correctly.”

“I’m a Hogwarts professor”, Snape reminded him with mocking gentleness.

“Yeah, great”, was the snorted reply, “from what I hear, even Slytherins hate you these days.”

“I’m used to being hated. I can deal with it.”

“Oh, stop with the self-pity already!” An angry frown had appeared on Draco’s forehead. “I don’t believe that you are in a position to reject any help that you can get! And I know people, they talk to me, I can listen, I can find out things, I can …”

“I see you’re all set to play investigator”, Severus broke in, but not unkindly.

“I like to look at the world we live in these days”, Draco said, still passionate. “Also, I have nothing else to do. I’m a spoilt rich kid with a flat in Chelsea.”

The self-mockery was definitely new. It was as if Draco had found a perspective from which to observe himself with that kind of distance that was the prerequisite for soul searching. Snape knew that this distance – if it wasn’t present from the start – usually came from hard experience.

“I’d rather you stayed out of any dodgy situations”, he murmured, but didn’t really believe that teacherly admonition was what the young man wanted to hear.

In fact, Draco gave a low cackle. “Please! Do you remember what’s on my left forearm?”

Normally, Severus Snape hated change. He preferred the hell he knew. However, seeing change in the shape of a pampered brat turning into a young man that looked you in the eyes and fiercely promised to help was quite … nice.

Since Severus didn’t speak, Draco went on hesitantly. “I _do_ mean this, you know. I know people, and I can make them talk to me if I want to.”

“But what about your friends? Those from school, from your House? You might run into conflicts there.”

Draco’s face became dark. “I have no friends”, he said simply.

Severus was a little impressed. This sounded like an existential crisis of sorts. It also meant that there must be some capacity of self-reflection, and that was certainly news. It also became ever clearer to him just how much Draco needed the connection. The young man had started to rummage in the pockets of his exquisitely tailored coat, bringing out a crumpled piece of parchment. “This … is my address.”

Hesitantly, Snape took the slip of paper covered with the handwriting he knew well from countless tests and essays.

“Chelsea”, Snape murmured, still not knowing whether this irritated or amused him.

“Yeah.” Draco smirked. “You should drop by. It’s swank.”

“No doubt.”

Draco writhed on his chair. “There’s another thing …”

“Yes?”

“Occlumency.”

Again, Snape raised his eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

“Aunt Bella started to teach me. Now she’s gone.” Draco was looking hard at Snape. It was not easy for him to ask for favours straight out, there was still too much of the pampered brat in him whose wishes were read off his eyes.

“You want lessons?”

“I’ll pay you”, Draco promised, regaining safe ground. “I heard that you take on … private teaching assignments these days.”

Severus maintained an impassive face. “I’ll think about it”, he promised, but he knew already that he would very probably do it.

“So you’ll get in touch?” There was an adamant note in Draco’s voice. “And you’ll let me help you?

After a few second’s hesitation, Snape slowly inclined his head and Draco inhaled sharply. “Good. – And will you do another thing for me?”

“Depends.”

Draco looked at Snape taxingly. “Will you give my regards to Astoria? Astoria Greengrass. Tell her that I’m … caught up in things right now. But I haven’t forgotten about getting in touch.”

Natural curiosity made Severus raise his eyebrows. “I didn’t know you were friends.”

“Why should you?” Draco replied, and by the tone of his voice, it was obvious that he had no intention of saying more about it.

Since all essentials appeared to have been said, both men returned to silence, finishing their tea. The atmosphere was quite companionable. Severus found that he was glad about the meeting. He hated to admit it, but it was good to know that he still had someone on his side. And while he became increasingly relaxed – even in spite of the crowded place and the occasional dirty look directed at him – a plan started to form in his mind. He was now very sure that he would contact Draco, and not only for Occlumency lessons. The boy was a man now, and one of considerable format and resolve. Severus Snape had the distinct feeling that he might prove to be very valuable.

 

 

[1] I’m obliged to Teanni’s wonderful Snape fanfic _Desperado_ (to be found here on fanfiction.net – check it out!) for the watch-ward idea – as far as I understand it a magical procedure which allows to monitor what someone is doing without having to be present all the time. It occurs in a different context there, but I think it makes sense as something the Ministry of Magic would use.


	3. Witch in Waiting

**Witch in Waiting**

 

“So let me get this straight”, said the voice on the other end of the phone, “there is this guy, he’s a little … how did you put it? … out-wordly, you had sex with him and now you cannot see him for some reason and don’t know what’s what? – Sorry, sweetie, but I’m not sure I quite understand …”

Elena Horwath sighed into the receiver. Talking to her best friend Katja after months was a fine thing and she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it. However, it was also complicated. There was so much that Katja didn’t know yet and Elena hadn’t anticipated just how difficult it would make their conversation. “It’s hard to explain”, she murmured, “he’s different from most men. You’d have to meet him.”

“I wouldn’t mind”, Katja replied cheerfully.

Elena pictured the scene – her friend Katja, the psychologist, meeting Severus Snape, the wizard – and she groaned inwardly.

“You see”, Elena struggled, “a lot of things have happened since we last spoke. I mean, it’s been a long time ...”

“Not exactly my fault”, said Katja with only the faintest hint of reproach. “I tried to reach you several times, but you were always out.”

“Yes, I’ve been very busy.”

“Busy with uni? Or with your aunt? How is she, anyway? Actually, she didn’t sound too bad when I spoke to her on the phone a few weeks ago.”

Good god, that _was_ difficult. Elena shifted uneasily on the sofa in her aunt Anna’s living room where she had snuggled up and decided – in a mood of loneliness and since she had virtually nothing else to do – to reconnect with her friend. So eager had she been to hear Katja’s voice that she hadn’t thought through the consequences.

“Anna is fine”, she said, glad to be able to impart some good news.

“Fine? I thought she had Alzheimer’s?”

Drat. Were there no safe topics anymore? But then, Elena realized, she had started it all.

“Not any longer”, she answered eventually.

“Not any longer?” Katja repeated incredulously. “Sorry, sweetie, but no one recovers from _Alzheimer’s_! – You probably mean to say that it hasn’t gotten any worse …”

“No”, Elena said firmly. “She is healed. Completely. - Actually, _he_ healed her.”

“Your mystery man?” A peal of laughter came over the Channel from Innsbruck, Tyrolia, where Katja was doing an internship in a psychiatric clinic. “So he’s a doctor?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what is he _exactly_? And how, pray tell, is he able to cure Alzheimer’s? Because if he can really do that, he must be something like a prodigy and I know a few people over here who would really like to talk to him.”

“He wouldn’t talk to _them_ ”, Elena explained. “He’s a very private person.”

“A private person who can cure Alzheimer’s but is not a doctor.” Katja sounded increasingly mystified.

“I guess you could say he is some kind of healer.”

“A _healer_?” There was a pause. “Listen, Ellie, you didn’t get involved with some guru heading a sect, did you?”

In spite of herself, Elena giggled. “Not exactly that, either.”

“’Cause that would really make me worry for you. I mean, we all had our esoteric phase when we were teenagers, but …”

“It’s nothing like that. Severus … well, he has very special talents …”

“His name’s Severin?”

“No. _Se-ve-rus_.”

“Good Lord, poor guy! Where his parents hippies or something?”

“Well. They were certainly not part of ordinary society.”

There was a pause. The telephone line crackled. Elena could almost picture Katja, sitting at some desk probably, dressed in white shirt and slacks, her forehead in heavy creases. Quickly, she continued before her friend could ask any more questions.

“Like I said”, she prattled on, “he has very special talents. He can heal all sorts of diseases, but he’s really a teacher, you see, at a … private boarding school … and he can …”, she stopped herself. She’d been about to say ‘fly without a broom’ (and whenever she remembered how Severus had saved her and himself by flying off a burning tower, a shiver ran down her spine). “He saved my life”, she said instead. “He really did.”

Another pause. – When Katja spoke again, her voice was guarded. “Well. If that is true, I am grateful to him.”

“So am I”, Elena said dreamily.

“That being so, it makes me wonder, Ellie.”

“Does it?” Elena murmured with no surprise at all.

“Yes. It makes me wonder … what kind of people you got yourself involved with. – Don’t get me wrong, but we’ve always been honest with each other and I’m asking myself why your life needed saving at all …”

“I saved his, too!” Elena said quickly, realizing only then that the remark didn’t exactly improve on the situation.

“Well, that’s grand”, there was a definite note of irony in Katja’s voice now, “but it doesn’t make it any clearer why …”

“I’ve changed”, Elena broke in. “I’m not … as you used to know me.”

“ _What_? … I mean … I’m not sure …”

“Do you remember what I told you once? That I predicted my uncle’s death as a child?”

“Yes, I do remember. Things like that happen. Not commonly, but so-called prescient phenomena are well documented in psychology. Experts assume that there are subconscious mechanisms at work, particularly in children who haven’t yet learnt to separate conscious and subconscious perception. C.G. Jung was very interested in such occurrences, and although he’s a little bit out of date …”

Elena broke in impatiently. “And do you remember how cats always follow me around? I mean, I can go nowhere without a bloody feline at my heels …”

Lux, Elena’s black cat who lay rolled up beside her gave off an affronted meow.

“Of course they follow you around!” Katja replied, laughing. “They know that you’re ever prepared to spoil them. Cats have a sense for easy victims, they’re opportunists, always on the gravy train.”

Elena and Lux exchanged meaningful glances. Katja was really a dog person.

“It’s more than that”, Elena said.

“What d’you mean, Ellie?”

Elena took a deep breath. “What if I told you that I was a witch?”

Another peal of laughter from the other end of the line, although Elena knew her dearest friend well enough to catch a slightly chilly note. “ _Of course_ you are a witch! So am I! We don’t let any guys bully us, do we? – And I sincerely hope you won’t let that Severus guy bully _you_!”

Not for the first time, Elena marvelled at how people always heard what they wanted to hear and preferred to ignore what didn’t fit their world view. Katja had chosen to interpret the word ‘witch’ as ‘feminist’ or ‘independent woman’. Elena felt an abyss opening up between herself and her old life, her family and friends in Austria and everything she had known. In this moment, when she sorely needed the connection – because she felt lonely, because she wasn’t allowed to see Severus and didn’t even know who he was right now and how he would be when they saw each other again – the realization was a stabbing pain in her chest.

“Severus doesn’t bully me. I mean, he can be a bit grumpy sometimes … he’s not really _endearing_ in that sense … but he treats me well.”

“Treats you right, you mean”, purred Katja. Her voice dropped conspiratorially, probably she wasn’t alone. “Good sex?”

“Yeah …”, Elena sighed. “But – Katja … when I said ‘witch’, I meant it.”

“Meant what?”

“I can do magic.”

No reply for at least five seconds. And then: “ _Bist du fesch **[1]**_?!”

“I’m not kidding! I am a witch. I have a wand, I can make things move with it … actually, I’m doing it right now!”

In fact, as if proving it to herself, she had picked up her wand – which had arrived this morning by owl, accompanied by a scrap of parchment bearing no more than a hurriedly scribbled _Thanks_ and the initials _S.S._ (he really was taking the no-contact thing _very_ seriously) – and made the textbooks on the coffee table zoom around frantically. Pity she had no video phone.

“Ellie, honestly! Since we haven’t spoken in such a long time, I’d rather we talked seriously.”

“I _am_ serious! I’m going to show you when I get back for Christmas, I promise. If you could just believe me for now …”

“Listen”, Katja broke in, and there it was again – the chilly note. “My lunch break is over. We had this kid brought in today, seriously psychotic from too much weed, he keeps thinking his bed’s on fire …”

“Oh.” Elena’s heart sank with disappointment, not only because the conversation was cut short, but also because she sensed that her best friend didn’t believe her one bit and needed time to digest what she had been told. “How’s Jamie, anyway?” she tried to hold on, referring to Katja’s new boyfriend, an American.

“He’s fine”, Katja slurred hastily. “Looks like the parade of narcissist assholes that was my love life is finally over …”

“I’m glad to hear that. Maybe you could come over, you and him? It’d be so good to see you, and to meet Jamie …”

“That’s not going to fly any time soon. As an intern, I’m practically a slave. You wouldn’t believe the hours I have to put in …”

“Then give me some advice at least!” Elena noticed how desperate she sounded. “’Cause I don’t know what to do! Once again in my life, I’m sitting here, waiting for a guy to … well, _call_ … and the waiting makes me maudlin, it makes me …”

“Break the pattern”, Katja said firmly. “Seriously, I mean it. If you find yourself in the same situation all over again, do something new, something you’ve never done before. Take the initiative, for instance. Don’t sentence yourself to passivity.”

“But …”

“Look, I really have to go.” It sounded final. “I’m going to call you in a few days, alright?”

Elena struggled for something to say, but couldn’t come up with anything. “Fine”, she sighed eventually.

“Bye, sweetie. And … take care, OK?”

There was a click and the connection was cut.

For a few minutes, Elena remained seated on the couch, phone in hand, staring at an elusive point suspended between the coffee table and the TV set. She felt a little anger at Katja’s reaction, but that soon waned. After all, her friend couldn’t be blamed. If anyone had told Elena a year ago that they were able to do magic, she would have laughed and probably even referred them to Katja or one of her colleagues. The revelation of being a witch was simply too much. It made her aware once more of the distance between herself and her old life.

_Break the pattern._

‘Easy to say that’, she thought gloomily, ‘when all I can do is sit here until that damn inquiry is over …’

She slumped back on the couch and issued another drawn-out sigh. The large clock in the corner of the sitting room was ticking away and to Elena, it seemed to beat the rhythm of depression. It was now almost a week ago that she had been discharged from St. Mungo’s, the wizarding hospital, where she’d been treated for a serious form of smoke poisoning. Now positively cured, she felt in principle full of energy but had nowhere to shove it. Her aunt Anna had recently gone to visit one of her friends somewhere in the country – since Severus Snape had cured her Alzheimer’s, the old lady was enthusiastic about travelling and reconnecting, fully aware that every minute of life had to be savoured – all of Elena’s papers and assignments for her university courses had been duly carried out and since she was still on sick leave from the dancing school, that didn’t provide any distraction, either. As a result, these days she found herself sitting at home mostly and, well, waiting. Waiting until that bloody hearing at the Wizengamot was finally over, so that she and Severus could see each other again and resume their lessons of magic. Resume something else, as well, maybe. However, at this point Elena was none too sure about that.

She was bored out of her mind. Of course, she had Lux for company, but he was a cat (as much as he might claim that he was really a jinxed wizard) and behaved like one, frequently taking off for hours on end and coming back full to the brim with adventures that she could not share. She’d had some visitors in the last few days, Remus Lupin being one of them, but he had a life and, more importantly, a small son and always seemed very busy. A girl called Hermione Granger had dropped in a few times, as well, first at the hospital, then at Elena’s home. Obviously, she had been the one taking her and Severus Snape to St. Mungo’s after the lighthouse event, although Elena couldn’t remember anything about that. She had liked the young witch well enough – although she considered her a bit of a nerd – but the acquaintance was too recent to provide any true comfort.

And there had been Eddie Hincks, of course, his handsome face aglow and ever so pleased to see her recovered. Had it been up to him, he’d have visited her every day. Elena knew all too well that he fancied her. And so, out of a sense of responsibility, she had cut his visits short on some pretext or other so as not to give him any ideas. Although that had probably been a wise decision, it had also brought her back to square one, sitting at home and waiting.

Having too much time on your hands had serious disadvantages. It made you think too much. It also made you overanalyse things until they got twisted in your mind. During her stay at St. Mungo’s, remembering that night in the lighthouse – when Severus and she had thought that they were going to die and had, quite boldly and unexpectedly, indulged in passionate love-making – had soothed her. She had thoroughly enjoyed the shivers that memory had sent through her and it had helped her recover, as well, because she had been eager to get out of that place to see how things would develop. However, there had been no development since, any chance of it forestalled by that damn hearing.

She hadn’t minded at first. When Severus had paid her a clandestine visit one night at the hospital, informing her on what was to come and that they must not see each other for a while, it hadn’t marred her optimism. It wouldn’t take forever, she had told herself, they would see each other again eventually and pick up where they had stopped.

By now, however, doubts had started to creep in. She remembered how he had been during that visit – distant, taking her hand almost reluctantly and only because she’d practically made him do it. What a marked change from the night in the lighthouse, or the next morning when she had come to rescue him – and succeeded against all hope – when he had grabbed her by the neck, kissed her roughly, whispering _‘I was angry at you for leaving me’_ into her mouth. Maybe he’d had second thoughts?

It was actually quite possible. Severus Snape, after all, was probably the most controlled man she’d ever met, not the type at all to allow himself any weakness. Maybe he regretted the exception that he had made that night, in an extreme situation? Maybe he even resented her for goading him into sex? After only six month of being a witch, Elena Horwath still felt that she didn’t know nearly enough about the wizarding world. However, her impression was that it was quite a prudish community with morals dating from an earlier age. She, however, was a child of the twentieth century with no qualms at all about indulging in sexual pleasures if she really wanted it. Maybe that had shocked him, at least when he’d come to think about it? Why, for all she knew he might even consider her a slut!

But she wasn’t. Sure enough, she’d had her share of pointless sex in life, but that was part of adult experience. With Severus, it had been different, the passion born out of emotion rather than curiosity. But how was he to know that? To him, she might just be another promiscuous Muggle tart (and she knew that he had such notions).

It was bloody ridiculous. She, of all people, feeling guilty about robbing an almost forty-year old man of his virginity! Actually, she should be pleased that she had gotten to him in that way …

Becoming restless again by her thoughts, Elena jumped up from the sofa and walked around aimlessly. It invariably brought her to the kitchen where she gazed out of the window to the dismal little house that was Snape’s. There was no sign of life, although she knew that Gilly, the house-elf, must be there, pottering about and cleaning frantically. Once or twice, Elena had considered going over and visiting the little creature. However, she had not done it so as not to get Severus into any trouble. She knew – because both Remus Lupin and Hermione Granger had informed her accordingly – that he was being watched by the Ministry to ensure that he would not contact her. She also knew – from Severus himself – that she might have to give testimony. Yet, to this day no one had contacted her and by now she thought that it might never happen. She was doomed to wait it out.

Suddenly, a jolt went through her. “This can’t go on!” she scolded herself, not really aware that she’d been talking aloud. With determined strides, she went back into the living room and over to the stereo. She searched her numerous CDs until she’d found what she wanted and needed. Queen. No one like the late Freddie Mercury to cheer you out of gloom!

It took her a while to get into it, but after five minutes she was dancing madly, shaking, twisting, to the beat of _Crazy Little Thing Called Love_. In only a short while, she worked up a fine sweat, feeling her mood improve, and not for the first time did she offer up a silent prayer of thanks to whoever had invented music. Lux sat on the sofa and watched her critically, but Elena didn’t mind and continued to dance with herself, to _Don’t Stop Me Now_ and eventually _Fat Bottomed Girls_. It did the trick and she forgot the world for a while.

Suddenly, she was startled by a very loud meow. Lux had jumped onto the back rest of the armchair, staring at her adamantly.

“What?” she demanded irritably, panting.

‘Didn’t you hear?’ Lux said in his usual non-verbal manner – Elena had been able to communicate with cats in that way ever since she could remember. ‘Someone’s knocking.’

She stopped short, stared. “Seriously?”

‘No wonder humans have such a bad sense of hearing’, Lux grumbled silently, ‘since you insist on deafening yourselves with loud music … Get going!’

For a brief moment, Elena froze. She knew only one person who would insist on knocking instead of ringing the doorbell, and that person was none other than Severus Snape. Now suddenly nervous, she combed her hair with flying fingers, then ran for the front door, tore it open … only to be sorely disappointed in the next moment.

Three strange men were standing on the doorstep. They were groomed and wore formal suits. However, the suits looked as if they’d come out of a forgotten suitcase left behind in the 1930s, and by that she knew immediately that her visitors were wizards.

“Yes?” she breathed.

“Ms Horwath? Elena Johanna Horwath?” The man heading the group had spoken. He was also by far the oldest of them, with a hawk nose, piercing grey eyes and a thin thatch of hair plastered across a balding head.

“Yes!” she coughed, still out of breath. Her respiratory system was still a little shaky from the smoke poisoning.

“My name is Ansgard Periwinkle”, the man said sternly, eyeing the young woman in her tattered jeans and sweaty T-shirt. “I’ve come from the Ministry of Magic and would like to talk to you for a minute, if you can spare the time.” His voice sounded like something rattling in a tin can.

Elena issued another bout of coughs, but this time it was to mask her discomposure. This was it! The visit from the Ministry Severus had warned her about. “Of course!” she said, a tad too loudly, and stepped back. “Please come in!”

The man stepped gingerly across the threshold, closely followed by his companions. Elena led the way into the living room where the stereo was still blaring _“… AND ANOTHER ONE GONE, ANOTHER ONE GONE, ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST …”._ She dashed towards the source of the music and pressed the stop button with trembling fingers. What a marvellous first impression she must leave, especially to people who had experienced quite a lot of dust-biting recently …

“Sorry about that”, she sputtered, “I was practicing, you see, I’m a dancing teacher …”

“Ah”, said the old man called Periwinkle, seemingly unimpressed.

“Interesting choice of music”, said one of the men in his wake. He was small, lithe, with black hair and a well-groomed black moustache, not unlike Freddie Mercury’s. His eyes were twinkling, though, and something seemed off about him. It took Elena a few seconds to realize what it was: he looked a little bit like a goblin, particularly the long fingers and nails. The third man appeared to be the youngest, had light brown hair tied in a ponytail, beads of sweat on his forehead and a nervous twitch around his mouth. Elena noticed a marked resemblance with the old man who started to speak in his tin-can voice again.

“May I introduce my assistants to you”, he said, and it wasn’t so much a polite question than a dry statement of intent. “Mr Finn McVey, my secretary, and Waldemar Periwinkle, whom I am currently training.” He looked upon the latter – who was obviously related to him – almost coldly, as if there were no ties whatsoever. Maybe that was his idea of professionalism. “How good of you to receive us, Ms Horwath”, he went on, although it didn’t sound at all as if he considered her gracious, but rather as if it was the least one could expect. “You must be very busy. Please be assured we won’t keep you long.”

His stare was so intense it made her flinch. ‘Periwinkle … Periwinkle …’, she thought, searching her memory, ‘where have I heard that name?’

“Won’t you … have a seat?” For no reason at all she had developed a hiccup. “Would you like tea? … But, no … I’m afraid I haven’t bought any … coffee maybe? Water from the tap?”

Periwinkle sneered slightly. “That’s not necessary, Ms Horwath. We are not here to dawdle.” He spoke with an authority that was chilling, went over to the sofa and sat down determinedly, his companions choosing the armchairs which left only a rickety chair for Elena. “Do you know why we are here?”

She nodded and dragged the chair nearer to the coffee table. “I’ve been informed that the Ministry might pay me a visit.”

“Informed by who?” The question from Periwinkle came like a whip, intended to catch her off-guard.

She took a deep breath. “Mr Remus Lupin told me”, she replied as evenly as she could. “He is an acquaintance of mine.”

“Is he.” Periwinkle said tersely. Suddenly, he held a pile of papers in his hands, seemingly conjured out of thin air, and rustled them. “Well, ma’am, before we start, might we get some details straight?”

Elena gulped and nodded. ‘Here goes …’ she thought.

The questioning started innocuously enough and the only thing she had to do at first was to confirm that, yes, she was indeed Elena Johanna Horwath, born on 7th May 1974 in Vienna-Florisdorf, Austria, to Gerhard Michael Horwath, Muggle and mechanical engineer, and Rosemarie Elisabeth Horwath, née Hautzenhofer (Elena had to bite her tongue hard so as not to grin at Periwinkle’s pronunciation of the name), Muggle and housewife. She wondered where the man had those details from, but then she remembered that Snape had registered her for an Apparition course with the Ministry a couple of months earlier, which had probably been the point when the data had gone on record. Periwinkle then proceeded to ask her whether she was an officially recorded witch in Austria, and when she said no – because she hadn’t yet known she was one when she’d last been home – he cautioned her sternly to make up for this omission as soon as she had the opportunity. “You are practically a rogue witch, Ms Horwath”, he said with a piercing glance, “no magical administration likes those, not even that of Austria, I’m sure.”

Elena felt that she was already at a disadvantage, something like an illegal agent, and she shifted uncomfortably on the chair. Her hands were suddenly cold and there was a funny fluttery feeling in her stomach. Out of the corner of her sight, she caught an amused twinkle in McVey’s very dark eyes and she squared her shoulders, willing herself to sit very upright.

“You know who we would like to talk about today, Ms Horwath”, Periwinkle the Older finally said, and he made it sound like a challenge.

It was on the tip of Elena’s tongue to say ‘Severus Snape’ – because she guessed that this was really the direction the men were headed. However, she stopped herself just in time. “Of course”, she said with a semblance of confidence, “you want to talk about Pawel Komarek.”

Uncomprehending stares answered her.

“There must be a misunderstanding”, Periwinkle the Younger stammered, and Elena had the impression that the efforts of those words made him sweat even more.

“It is Pavel Volodimir Leshnikov we wish to speak about”, Periwinkle the Older corrected with a hint of dry reproach.

Elena nodded frantically. “Of course”, she said, “that’s his real name. Not the name I knew him by, though. But we are talking about the same guy.” She tried for a reassuring smile in the younger Periwinkle’s direction, but merely caught a stern glance by his older relative (father? Grandfather?).

It took the older man some time to assimilate the new information before he continued with his interrogation. “Please, Ms Horwath, explain to us how and under which circumstances you met Pavel Leshnikov.”

And so she told them the story how, a few months ago, she had taken on a new assignment at the dancing school, an about forty-year old man, allegedly from Poland and by the name of Komarek, who wished to learn how to dance in one-on-one lessons. She explained how to her he had played the role of Muggle perfectly so she had never suspected that he was really a wizard whose only intention was to use her to get to Severus Snape, her teacher of all things magic.

“You never suspected anything?” McVey interrupted her account, eyebrows quirked.

“Never”, Elena said firmly. “He was really very, very good. I mean, I lived as a Muggle all my life, I would have noticed if something had been, you know, _off_ about him. But he was perfect. The clothes, the attitude … he drove a big Mercedes … I mean, a car … he sometimes spoke about his job, claimed that he was a banker in Birmingham, and although I certainly don’t know a lot about banking and finance, he seemed to have all the details right, he was absolutely convincing.”

“From what we were able to learn from the Bulgarian authorities”, snarled Periwinkle, “he and his mother were forced to live among Muggles when he was a child. The country was under a Communist regime then, wizards were persecuted and had no choice but to blend in.”

“That explains it then”, Elena said with a rueful smile which the hawk-nosed man didn’t reciprocate.

“Do you know where he lived?” Periwinkle wanted to know. “If he was living as a Muggle, he would have had a base somewhere, somewhere to keep this Mer … the car.”

“I have no idea”, Elena confessed. “And I must admit I never asked. He mentioned once, though, that my home was on his way to the dancing school, so I’m guessing Birmingham, since he also worked there … I mean, _claimed_ to work there …”

“We can’t be doing with guesswork, Ms Horwath”, Periwinkle said doggedly and rustled his papers. “How long had you known Professor Snape at this point?”

“About two months, probably.”

“Explain to me how you met him.”

So again Elena launched into a story, this time on how she had met Snape, her neighbour, during a crisis with her aunt Anna whose Alzheimer’s had taken a turn for the worse last summer, and how Severus had provided her with a potion to heal her. She thought that she was on safe ground there, that it was a good opportunity to paint him as a saviour and healer, but the account didn’t seem to impress Periwinkle. In fact, he wrinkled his nose. “Thrusting a magical potion into the hands of a naïve Muggle girl”, he remarked coldly, “never mind the Statute of Secrecy.”

Only then did she realize her mistake and felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “He only wanted to help!” she claimed, a tad too passionately. “He did, too, my aunt is completely healed now. – And after all, I’m not a Muggle!”

“You didn’t know that then, did you?”

“Not then”, she admitted, biting her lower lip.

“And did Professor Snape at any point care to Obliviate your aunt, seeing that she is a Muggle that had experienced magic?”

“No”, Elena murmured and then, following a sudden inspiration, added, “he mentioned that he was afraid to upset her mental state by it.” It was a complete lie – Obliviating Anna had never ever been mentioned – but it rolled off her tongue effortlessly. McVey and the younger Periwinkle exchanged glances, and even the older man had nothing to say and cleared his throat. “Please continue with your story, Ms Horwath.”

She did. Told the three men how Snape had found out that she was a witch and had set out to teach her. That account invariably brought her to the attack that she had witnessed in his house, the one in which two thugs called Aubrey and Kerr had put him under a _Cruciatus_ and almost killed him, hadn’t it been for her intervention and an immense luck. However, Periwinkle didn’t appear all too interested in that part, reminding her that it was all on record with the Ministerial Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He was eager to get back to Leshnikov aka Komarek instead.

“When did you finally realize that Pawel Komarek, as he called himself, was not who he claimed he was?”

“When he kidnapped me on Halloween Night”, Elena replied and even now, she felt a shiver running down her spine.

“As late as that?”

“I’m not saying I was very clever about it”, Elena said darkly. “But that only proves what a superb actor he was.”

“Do I understand correctly that Professor Snape never met your … _dancing student_ … before that?”

“No, he didn’t. I think they caught a glance of each other once, but that was only very briefly.”

“What happened then?”

Elena took a deep breath. She had to watch it now. As evenly as she could, she recounted how Leshnikov had taken her prisoner in a lighthouse, using her as bait. How Snape had come for her, but had been incapacitated by an disc installed on top of the tower, a disc inscribed with Sanskrit letters that blocked out all magic and how in physical contest, Leshnikov had been the stronger and more brutal man by far. Then the cold and lonely night in the lighthouse when they had thought that they were going to die. Of course, she didn’t mention the love-making. She did, however, tell them that she had found the Time Turner in the pocket of Severus’ travelling cloak while he had been fast asleep.

For the first time, a predatory gleam appeared in the older Periwinkle’s eyes.

“So Professor Snape had a Time Turner in his pocket? – Why exactly do you think that was?”

She shrugged. “I believe it was an heirloom. From Albus Dumbledore.”

McVey shifted on the sofa and the younger Periwinkle looked troubled.

“Did Professor Snape tell you that?”

“His house-elf told me. I’m yet to get to that point …”

“So you found the Time Turner and used it? How exactly did you know how to do that?”

Elena suppressed a sigh. “I had used it before.”

“Indeed?” Now the gleam became almost greedy. “How did that come to pass?”

“Professor Snape let me occasionally use it to catch up with my work load”, Elena confessed and tried hard to make it sound bright and innocent, although her nervousness flared up again and made it hard for her to sit still. “You see, I’m enrolled at Birmingham university, in linguistics. I also have to earn money at the dancing school to support my aunt. And then my magical studies on top of that, and me being such a late beginner, anyway … it all became a bit much.”

“Why not drop one of these pursuits instead?” McVey had spoken up. His voice was low and had a strange pitch. “Muggle university, for instance?”

Elena realized suddenly that this was the point where she could gain some respect for herself and she made an ill-tempered face, squared her shoulders once more. “Not you, too”, she hissed, “Professor Snape said the same thing. You wizards really _are_ an arrogant bunch, you know?!”

Three pairs of very startled eyes stared at her.

“You don’t seem to realize that I’ve been a Muggle all my life”, she went on ranting, “that I was on the way of making myself into someone in my world, build a career, ensure that I could someday keep myself. You seem to think that as soon as magic comes into play, everything else is unimportant. But guess what – it isn’t! I still don’t know whether I can ever be someone in the wizarding world, whether I will be able to find a paid job, because I started so late. I have no one to look after me – and I wouldn’t want it – I will have to look after myself for the rest of my life! So don’t you think that it would be bloody stupid if I dropped university, now that I’ve come so far and don’t know whether the magical world can provide a future for me?? – Hell, I wish you’d all stop and _think_ for a change!!”

Silence dropped. Even old Periwinkle’s face had gone blank, while the younger one looked slightly sheepish. At last, McVey spoke.

“I’m sorry, Ms Horwath. Maybe we haven’t considered your position well enough.”

She gave of a – slightly dramatic – sigh. “No one does”, she said dismissively, “nor did Professor Snape, at first. However, eventually he came to see my point. Which is why he let me use the Time Turner occasionally. Obviously, there was a precedent. A very bright Hogwarts student who’d taken on too much in her third year at the school. As a result, Professor Dumbledore made the decision to let her have the Time Turner to get through her schedule …”

“Hermione Granger”, the younger Periwinkle piped up, looking at his relative almost imploringly, “the one of the Golden Trio. It’s a well known fact that she was allowed …”

“Yes, I know”, the old man cut him short coldly. “I’m sure Dumbledore thought that he was very clever, and of course he never asked the Ministry for permission. I guess, though, that this gave Professor Snape the idea and made him think he had license …”

“I wasn’t a third-year Hogwarts student”, Elena broke in, still fuelled by her outbreak, “but an adult. So I think it was quite safe to assume that if Hermione Granger handled the Time Turner responsibly, I might …”

“It is still gross negligence!” snarled Periwinkle. “To give such a powerful piece of magic to a novice!”

“I can assure you that Professor Snape had me learn the Time Turner rules by heart before he let me use it. In fact, I could rattle them off even if you tore me out of sleep. – Do you want me to prove it?” She made an eager face, as if all set to go through the whole set of rules here and now.

Periwinkle the Older sneered. “That won’t be necessary, Ms Horwath.”

But she was emboldened now. “Also, may I remind you of the fact that if I hadn’t known how to use the Time Turner, Professor Snape and I would be dead by now and we wouldn’t have this … cosy little interview.”

Periwinkle glared at her with narrowed eyes and said nothing. After a while, he cleared his throat. His facial expression changed, becoming once again calculating. “Have become friends, you and Snape, haven’t you?”

“I wouldn’t say that”, Elena replied lightly. “Professor Snape is very professional, you see. After all, I’m only his student.”

“Has he ever spoken to you about the past?”

“The wizarding wars, you mean?” In spite of herself, Elena was beginning to enjoy this. Her little burst of temper had miraculously given her the upper hand, upset the balance of power, and she suddenly found it easy to contort the truth without so much as blushing. “Well, he’d answer the occasional question when I asked, but nothing personal. What I know about that time, I learnt chiefly from the _Daily Prophet_ and from what Mr Lupin and Mr Potter told me.”

“You know Harry Potter?” Waldemar Periwinkle had spoken and he stared at her with wide eyes, a hint of enchantment in his voice. The older Periwinkle turned his head sharply, silencing him with one of his stares.

“I’ve met him”, Elena said evenly. “In fact, he and his girlfriend took some dancing lessons with me.”

“Really?” Ansgard Periwinkle’s voice was dripping with sarcasm.

“Really.” She replied, voice dripping with boredom while she met his eyes.

“Tell me one thing, Ms Horwath.” It was obvious Periwinkle was preparing for a new attack. “Since you seem to be so _well informed_ on the events of the wizarding wars, are you aware of Professor Snape’s part in them?”

She gave him a dazzlingly naïve smile. “Of course I know how he sacrificed himself. That he put his life on the line to ensure Harry Potter could defeat Lord Voldemort.”

A malicious sneer appeared on Periwinkle’s mouth. “Yes, the hero story. But do you also know that Severus Snape used to be a loyal and high-ranked Death Eater? That he provided horrific poisons for their cause? And that he was very probably involved in heinous attacks?”

Elena felt like gulping, but hid it and nodded.

“Didn’t that … scare you, Ms Horwath, knowing that you were dealing with a person that used to be a criminal, and on a daily basis, too?”

She forced herself to hold Periwinkle’s gaze, tilted her head, while her brain was working overtime trying to assess the man and to find his weakness. She concentrated on her stomach, the place that gives birth to intuition. It was hard to connect to it because her hands felt cold again, the nervousness came back and made her heart pound, so she breathed, willed herself to stay calm. “Are you a religious man, Mr Periwinkle?” she asked finally and in a very soft voice.

The question caught him off guard, but he, too, had marvellous self-control. “I believe I am, Ms Horwath. I also believe that faith plays a far more important role in the wizarding world than it does in the Muggle sphere, at least nowadays, which I find very regretful. Wizards are very much aware who they have to thank for their gift. And as for me, religion has certainly taught me to tell right from wrong.” The predatory gleam in his eyes now mixed with one of triumph.

“Good”, she replied. “’Cause I was brought up religiously, as well. In fact, I went to a convent the first four years of my school life. Nuns and all that. One of the stories from the Bible that left a marked impression on me was the one of the prodigal son; the bottom line being that God rejoices more in a reformed sinner than in a person of lukewarm righteousness. – I’m sure you’ve heard that story, Mr Periwinkle?”

When another breathless silence dropped, she knew she’d hit the mark. Ever since she had embarked on her magical studies under Snape’s careful tutoring, she had noticed that it had done something to her empathic qualities, that she was – in certain circumstances – able to sense what people felt and what the essential parts of their psychological make-ups were. Periwinkle, she had intuited, was in fact a religious man and he set a lot of store by his own righteousness. She knew that her words would not improve on his opinion about her; but at the same time, she also knew that the interview was now at an end, that she had rattled his cage and he had no idea on how to proceed.

When he spoke again, the tin-can voice sounded strangled. “Thank you for that education in religion, Ms Horwath. And thank you for making the time.”

“Hey, wait! – Don’t you want to hear the rest of the story? How I got Professor Snape and myself out of the lighthouse?”

“That won’t be necessary”, Periwinkle grumbled and got to his feet, “you have already regaled Mr Remus Lupin with the details, as far as I know, and they are on record. As far as this interview went, we were chiefly interested in details on Mr Leshnikov. And since you were not able to tell us anything new here, for instance as to where is base was, I’m afraid you won’t be of any further help to us.”

She rose from her chair, gave him an amiable smile. “I’m sorry about that”, she said with feigned ruefulness. “But I promise I will contact you if I remember anything.”

“I expect no less”, Periwinkle replied haughtily, turned on his heel and went towards the front door without so much as a good-bye or looking back. Waldemar Periwinkle scurried after him hastily, only McVey lingered a little, assessing Elena from head to toe. Eventually, he brought forward a little card which he thrust into her hand.

“In case you need to contact us”, he explained. “If you _remember_ anything, for instance.”

He bowed very slightly, gave quite a mischievous grin – which might also have been ironic – and followed the other men without haste.

“Good day to you”, Elena chimed after them, “it’s been lovely talking to you!”

 

As soon as the front door was slammed shut, she went over to the stereo again and indulged in another round of Freddie and _We Will Rock You_ , full blast.

 

 

[1] Austrian slang for „Are you kidding me/fooling around?“


	4. Intrusions

**Intrusions**

 

_“What the HELL did you do?”_

_“Carrying out orders! What do you think, Snape?”_

_“You must be out of your mind! Orders weren’t to produce a massacre! There were children, for Hecate’s sake!”_

_“Aww, is the Dark Lord’s pet not amused? Is he appalled?”_

_“You know exactly what I mean, Bella! Clean killing is one thing, but not …._ this _!”_

_“Uuuh!! He doesn’t like our methods, Rudy …”_

_“Get off it, Snape! They’re dead alright. Why not have a little fun while we were at it?”_

_“If that’s your idea of fun, Rudolphus …”_

_“Don’t listen to him, love! He’s just playing at high and mighty, he wants us to believe he has m-o-r-a-l-s …”_

_“Leave them alone, Sev, it’s been done.”_

_“Don’t tell me you approve of this, Lucius!”_

_“I don’t. But I don’t see what we could do about it now, either. – Come on, we have what we wanted, we found the documents, the Order’s plans. Just think about how the Dark Lord is going to reward us!”_

_“Why waste your breath on him, Lucius? He’s a Muggle lover, I always knew it! He’s got Mudblood in him, after all …”_

_“YOU BLOODY FUCKING BANSHEE FROM HELL …”_

_“GET OFF IT, SEVERUS! – Rudy, put that wand away, you’ve done enough damage with it for today! And no, Bella, not a word, just shut it for once …”_

_“Don’t talk like that to my wife! If you weren’t my brother-in-law …”_

_“What then, Rudolphus?! You’d jinx me, or what? We all know you are nothing without_ her _at your side, you wouldn’t even have the guts to kill, let alone torture anyone like you just did …”_

_“I can’t believe you’re siding with that half-blood wimp! You, a pure-blood!”_

_“Leave them be, love. They’re going to come off it …”_

_“Are you going to be sick, Snape? ‘Cause you sure look like you’re about to puke! That’s something quite different from your impersonal poisons, isn’t it? Can’t trick yourself into believing that you’re better than the rest of us now, can you?”_

_“One more word, Rudolphus, and I’m going to …”_

_“WHAT?? You’re going to do what, Snape?”_

_“Guys! Listen, we have to get out of here! The mission’s accomplished, we have the plans. No use in getting caught up in formalities …”_

 

“Severus? Might I have a word?”

Severus Snape was ripped out of his thoughts and jolted from the past back into present reality which was his desk in the Hogwarts staffroom. Blankly, he stared into the bespectacled eyes of the headmistress, Minerva McGonagall; he had not heard her coming up behind him. He sat in front of a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ , and the little time it took him to straighten it out was enough to regain his composure. With his left hand, he slipped the book that he’d really been reading – before getting caught up in ugly memories, anyway – under the pages of the newspaper. It was a small thin volume with an anonymous black cover and not fit for any eyes to see. With his usual impassive face firmly in place, he raised an eyebrow at his professional superior. “Yes?”

“Sorry if I startled you, but there’s something I need to talk to you about, and urgently.” McGonagall’s eyes surveyed him and came to rest on the newspaper. “Oh, I can see you’re on to the subject already!”

“I beg your pardon?”

The headmistress pointed her index finger at the topmost headline and when Severus followed, it was for the first time that he consciously saw the words. _Satyr infestation in Britain! Ministry issues alert._ He stared at it, puzzled, then willed himself to breath calmly. “Ah, yes”, he murmured, “that’s some news, isn’t it?”

McGonagall rolled her eyes. “That’s putting it mildly. We could have done without that, and at this time, too!”

“Well, there’s always something”, he replied evenly.

“I wonder how they came here! The weather shouldn’t be at all to their liking. They are Mediterranean creatures!”

“Maybe someone introduced them, not necessarily on purpose, but it could also have been by design, somebody’s idea of a joke.”

“A horrible joke, if you ask me!” McGonagall was clearly in a huff. “You know what these beasts do?”

“I’ve heard about it …”

But obviously, the older witch had to spit it out. “They accost young witches, or female magical creatures in general, particularly if they’ve got no nymphs or maenads to … _take off the tension_ … and they …” she broke off. “I mustn’t even think about what might happen if they found a base in the Forbidden Forrest and preyed on our students!”

Severus put two and two together. “I guess that’s why you have come to talk to me?”

“Yes. You as the DADA teacher will have to take charge here. Explain to the students, tell them what to do. I know, it’s a touchy subject, they will probably giggle or be foolish about it, but they have to be prepared, especially the girls.”

“Boys, too, I should think”, Snape replied. “From what I’ve heard and read, satyrs accost boys, as well, lacking alternatives.”

McGonagall looked a little shocked and wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Well then, boys too, if you insist.”

“I’ll check the library tonight”, he promised. “If I remember correctly, there’s a straightforward enough spell to drive them out. It might take a bit of practice, but I’m sure it can be done, even by the younger students if properly motivated.”

“We should schedule extra lessons”, McGonagall suggested. “If you’ve read that article in the _Prophet_ , you know what happened to that poor girl in the Forest of Dean …” she shuddered. “I would never forgive myself if anything like that happened to one of our students. So better don’t dawdle about it.”

“I never dawdle”, Snape said tersely.

“And you should take Hagrid and Filius to search the Forbidden Forrest. There may already be nests …”

“Are you sure Hagrid can tell a satyr from a goat?”

“Please, Severus, if we have an expert on magical creatures, it’s Hagrid!”

“For all I know about him, he might have brought them in. Perhaps he thinks they are cute?”

“That’s not funny, Severus!”

“I wasn’t being funny.”

McGonagall sighed. “Just … do me the favour, will you?”

Snape shrugged, then nodded. “Of course, Headmistress.”

The witch said a curt “Thank you” and turned to leave, but stopped herself, looking over her shoulder. “Tomorrow’s the day, isn’t it? That hearing?”

Again, he nodded, with a gloomy look on his face. “Yeah. No postponements this time. The circus will proceed.”

McGonagall graciously tried at a sympathetic expression. “It won’t be too bad”, she said as if she had any way of knowing. “Although I was surprised to hear that it’s going to be open to a limited number of the public. Makes it appear more like a trial.”

“To my mind, that’s exactly the effect the Wizengamot is going for.”

“Oh, come on! As always, you are putting a far too pessimistic spin on things.”

“You think?”

Minerva McGonagall didn’t reply at first, but sighed. “You should know, Severus”, she started eventually, “that I have offered myself as a character witness. However, they insisted that it was all about that Leshnikov affair, not about embarrassing you.”

“Whatever”, Severus murmured, staring pointedly at the _Daily Prophet_ to make the interfering woman leave. However, if McGonagall noticed, she ignored it.

“How is your friend, anyway? Ms Horwath?”

“She is my student. And I don’t know how she is because I’m not allowed to contact her until after the event. Watch-wards.”

McGonagall raised her eyebrows in surprise. “That bad?” she exclaimed, then clamped her mouth shut.

“She has left St. Mungo’s by now, anyway, or that’s what I’m told. I trust they did a good job on her.”

“Thank goodness. She’s quite a gutsy lady, that one.” The headmistress gave him a bright smile that was obviously intended to cheer him up, but only elicited a scowl. “Well, good luck for tomorrow. Like I said – I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”

Snape rolled his eyes in exasperation, but McGonagall didn’t see it because she had hurriedly turned once more and quickly walked away out of the staffroom.

Alone again, Severus sighed and folded the copy of the _Daily Prophet_. This brought to light the book with the black cover. He slipped it into the pocket of his robes and got up from his chair. Better check the library now for that spell to rout satyrs, at least it would give him something productive to do and take his mind off the next day and the event that came with it, which he had perused to often in the last two weeks it made him dizzy.

So with determined strides, he left the staffroom and proceeded to the library on the first floor. He exchanged a quick nod with Madam Pince and went straight to the section where he suspected he would find the book he needed. However, after fifteen minutes of intense search he still hadn’t found it. Those where the kind of things that seriously brought down his already foul mood and when he addressed the librarian sitting at her desk, he made no effort to control his irritation.

“Where’s that book on Magical Creatures of the Mediterranean?” he grunted.

Irma Pince looked up, frowning. “Good day to you, too, Severus.”

“I’ve been through the whole Magical Creatures section and its nowhere to be found!” he ranted accusingly.

But Irma was not a person to be bullied and gave him a false smile. “What do you need it for, Severus?”

“What do I need it for?! Satyr infestation, how about that?”

“Gosh, yes!” Madam Pince sighed. “That poor girl in the Forest of Dean …”

“It should be here! Don’t tell me that the tykes need it for their studies.”

Flustered now, the librarian checked her in-and-out book. “Why, it’s been taken, Severus. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait …”

“Wait until one of our student’s attacked? Great!”

“Well, I’m sorry! It’s not part of the restricted section, so I’m afraid …”

“Isn’t there a spare copy?”

“Obviously not”, an angry line appeared on Irma Pince’s forehead; she was very proud of the library’s state and resented any suggestion that it might be ill-equipped, “or you would have found it, wouldn’t you?”

“Thank you for nothing”, snarled Snape and walked away in a huff.

“Severus, wait!”

But he was already back in the corridor, fuming inside and wallowing in self-pity on how nothing went according to plan these days. He was headed for his dungeons quarters now, having decided that he’d had enough of the world for today and deserved a generous glass of Fire Whiskey – chiefly to make sure that unwanted memories of the past would not bother him again – when he heard hurried footsteps behind him and someone clearing their throat.

“Professor Snape?”

He wheeled around, glowering.

Out of the shadows of the corridor stepped Hermione Granger, smiling at him hesitantly.

“What is it?” he snapped.

“I was just in the library”, she said hurriedly. “Studying, you see …”

“Of course you were”, said Snape sarcastically. The little know-it-all just couldn’t stuff enough knowledge down her greedy intellectual throat.

“I couldn’t help overhearing your … conversation with Madam Pince …”

Snape’s scowl darkened. An eavesdropper, too.

But Hermione Granger continued to smile, and out of the folds of her robes she produced a book. “I think you were looking for this?”

Sure enough, it was the copy of Magical Creatures of the Mediterranean that he’d been looking for.

“What were you doing with it?” he challenged her.

She pushed her lower lip forward in a petulant grimace. “Well, reading it, of course.”

“You don’t say!”

“I read about that satyr infestation in the _Prophet_ and thought that I …”

“That you had better use for it than the entirety of Hogwart’s students faced with a serious danger!” Viciously, he ripped the book out of her hand.

“I was going to turn it in tonight!” she defended herself, heat rising in her cheeks. “You can’t blame me for …”

“I can’t blame you for withholding it from the greater good?” he cut in icily.

“For wanting to know! What to do if I ran into one …”

“That’s nonsense, Miss Granger! Someone who helped defeat the Dark Lord could surely make short work of a lecherous satyr even without knowing the required spell!”

Quite unexpectedly, a smile stole back into the girl’s features. Snape realized that he had unintentionally paid her a compliment and it made his mood plunge even more.

“Well, here’s the book”, Hermione said a little haughtily, “I don’t need it anymore.”

Severus examined the copy and stuffed it into his robes pocket, not looking at her. He expected the Granger girl to take off, however, she stayed glued to the spot, glaring at him intensely.

“So tomorrow’s the day, huh?”

He looked up with every intention of staring her into silence. “As everybody keeps reminding me”, he snarled.

“Well, at least tomorrow by this time it’s over.”

“Thank you, Miss Granger, but I am very well able to figure that out myself.”

She opened her mouth, closed it. It was clear she had something to say, but didn’t know how. Snape was getting impatient and turned to leave, when she almost shouted, “I visited Elena yesterday!”

He should have paid her no attention – nosy little creature, assuming that he might be interested – in fact, he should have left. However, he found that he couldn’t. So he turned his most impassive face on her. “Have you now.”

“She’s fine. Well recovered. Just a little bored.”

“Hardly believable, with _you_ for fascinating company.”

Hermione ignored the scathing comment. “Also, someone from the Ministry came to see her two days ago.”

He digested that and was acutely aware of how it made his stomach twinge. However, he tried to mask it by shrugging and started to walk towards his original destination, the dungeons. Almost simultaneously, Hermione Granger started to walk, as well, as if he had asked her for company. “It was to be expected”, he said in as bored a voice as he was able to put on. “When I was told that there was to be a hearing at the Wizengamot, I was also informed that she might be asked for her version of the story.”

“I know”, the young witch replied eagerly, trying to keep up with his long twitchy strides, “that is the reason why you are not allowed to see each other. Totally daft, if you ask me.”

“So why are you insisting on telling me something that’s not at all a surprise?”

“I thought you’d like to know. How it went down. – Elena told me all about it, you see.”

“Yeah, she’s a talker”, Snape sighed.

Hermione shot him a searching side glance. “It was Periwinkle. The Ministry official who visited her. – Surely you have heard about Ansgard Periwinkle?”

Of course he had. Every Death Eater had heard of the man. He’d been after him and his erstwhile associates for decades, specifically for the assassination of the McKinnon family to which the man was related. However, Severus Snape had no intention of letting that on to the intrusive little nerd that was walking by his side. “Rings a bell”, he said instead, but no more.

“He had two assistants with him”, Hermione went on, “I don’t remember their names. Elena said that one of them looked like he had goblin blood.”

“Interesting”, Snape said flatly, although he was indeed intrigued since he had some idea as to the identity of that man. Of course, he wouldn’t tell Granger that, either.

“I’m a little worried”, Hermione confessed, “Elena seems to think that the interview went quite well. She says that she held her own, but I don’t know …”

Snape turned his head sharply. “What do you mean?”

“I’m afraid she seriously pissed off Periwinkle.”

In spite of himself, a crooked smile played around the corners of Severus’ mouth. “Did she?” Yes, Elena could be stubborn, especially when someone riled her.

“Obviously, she challenged his religious beliefs.”

“Oh?” Again, he had to suppress a grin.

“She said that he grilled her really hard, tried to get her to say something bad about you. At first, he was going on about how you cured her aunt from Alzheimer’s …”

“ _That_?”

“Yeah, he said you shouldn’t have given her the benefit of your magic without Obliviating her later.”

Severus considered this. Strictly speaking, it was true. However, at the time, the thought hadn’t even entered his mind.

“But Elena fended it off alright, told him that it might have upset her aunt’s mental state if you had done that …”

‘Clever girl’, Snape thought with satisfaction and without him noticing, his step acquired a new spring.

“Did you?” Hermione asked.

“Did what?”

“Cure Alzheimer’s?”

“It seems to me that you don’t have a first idea, Ms Granger, what potions can do.”

“What exactly did you use?” She was visibly fascinated. “Hellebore, I’m guessing?”

“Good guess”, he acknowledged. “However, it was a pretty advanced potion. Don’t even think of trying it, you’re only a seventh-year and have much still to learn.”

Hermione lifted her chin irritably. “Well, anyway”, she went on, “Periwinkle had a go at Elena about that Time Turner, as well.”

Drat. He shouldn’t have let her use it. Then again, if he hadn’t, he would not walk this corridor right now, being pestered by Granger.

“But it looks like she had quite a good answer to that, too. – At least, that’s what she says. I’m not quite sure, though …”

Severus raised an eyebrow at her, challenging her to elaborate.

“I don’t mean to be rude”, Hermione obliged him, “but sometimes I can’t help thinking that Elena’s a little naïve. She gets carried away and she has no sense for diplomacy.”

“Did she tell them that I only let her use the Time Turner on occasion?” He was far more eager to hear the answer to that than he let on.

“Yes, I think so. She claims that they swallowed her story.”

Snape sighed quietly. He could only hope that this was true.

“What else?” Since Granger was offering information so freely, he saw no point in feigning complete disinterest anymore.

“Well, they wanted to know about Leshnikov, of course. But since Elena never even knew his real name and never suspected that he was a wizard … do you see now what I mean by ‘naïve’?”

“She wasn’t able to tell them much about him”, Snape finished hear earlier sentence. “The guy was a very good actor. I mean, who but Elena could have realized that he wasn’t a real Muggle?”

“ _I_ would have”, Hermione said firmly.

Snape shot her an ironic glance. “Too bad you weren’t around, Miss Granger.”

Again, she lifted her chin, obviously very sure of herself.

They had reached the dungeons by now, but still Granger refused to leave his side.

“What I’m saying is”, she went on, “I’m afraid that Elena didn’t do anything to dispose Ansgard Periwinkle more favourably towards you.”

This time, however, it was Severus’ turn to shrug. “No one can do that. From what I know of him, he is not a favourably disposed person.” Inwardly, he had a ball. Challenge a bigot’s religion – Elena _did_ have a nerve! He felt a very distinct sense of pride and something else, as well; a warm feeling spreading in his guts and into all likely and unlikely parts of his body. Actually, he felt quite different altogether now than he had only minutes ago, his bad mood had made way to a precarious equilibrium. He didn’t even mind Granger’s babbling so much anymore.

“So you _do_ know him?” she insisted shrewdly.

“Everyone knows everybody in the wizarding world”, he said noncommittally.

Again, Hermione gave him a long hard look, but didn’t comment.

They had only just passed the potions classroom and on the far side of the dark corridor, the door to Snape’s office came into view, the door illuminated by torches on either side.

Severus gave Hermione a sarcastic look. “Gracious as it was of you to accompany me down here and regaling me with your news, surely you won’t object if I’d prefer to be alone right now?”

“Of course not”, she replied, flustered, “I only wanted to …”

A loud bang stopped her in mid-sentence. It was a noise of something falling, a piece of furniture perhaps. And its source clearly lay on the other side of Snape’s office door.

The witch and the wizard exchanged startled looks.

“What was _that_?” Hermione whispered.

“What the hell are they up to now?” hissed Snape, immediately suspecting a student’s prank. However, Hermione looked glum as if from ill foreboding and somehow, she infected Severus with it. Almost simultaneously, they both drew their wands.

“Stay behind”, he said quietly, “in case I need cover.”

She nodded and made a gesture for him to proceed. Quietly, he glided towards the door and gently tapped his wand at it, muttering a quiet incantation which opened it only a fraction. He felt danger pressing forth from the dark gap. It made his body hair stir. His new wand was raised high now in his right hand, and with his left he pushed carefully at the door and slipped into the low-ceilinged dungeons room.

In the next second, all hell broke loose.

The masked figure – small, lithe and nimble – he first saw out of the corner of his eye. It was bent over his desk, rummaging where it had no right to do so. The next thing Snape saw was the jump of shock that went through the unknown intruder and a swift movement of his – or her – wand hand. “ _Stupefy_!” The voice was shrill and rang in Severus’ suddenly oversensitive ears. Yet he was prepared, his old battle instincts intact, and he blocked the spell.

“What the _hell_ …”, he growled and launched into a Disarming curse. “ _Expelliarmus_!”

However, the intruder’s instincts weren’t so bad, either. Quickly, the slim black-clothed shape dove out of the jinx’s path in an artistic summersault that would have been impressive to watch in any other situation. It was a neat black ball tumbling gracefully across the stone floor and Snape could have sworn that he heard an excited giggle. His Disarming spell, however, hit a stone pillar which remained quite unimpressed. A greenish jet shot forth towards Snape, and he ducked just in time. The spell struck a shelf beside the door, and a number of glass jars and containers shattered with a tremendous noise, ill-smelling liquids gushing forward as the shelf collapsed, blocking the door. Snape heard a squeal, no doubt from Granger, who was on the other side. No help was to be expected from there, so Snape braced himself, took aim and cried “ _Sectumsempra_!”

However, the curse came off badly. Bloody new wand! The intruder who swiftly pushed himself – or herself – up from the floor blocked the spell without effort, and with another breath-taking jump, the intruder raced towards the fireplace. There was a shout in a high-pitched voice, “ _Retro_!”

“NO!” bellowed Snape.

But it was too late. A greenish cloud puffed out of the crevice, the fire was extinguished in a whoosh and the uninvited guest was gone. Snape was left standing in the middle of the room, staring incredulously and foolishly at his fireplace. His anger flared up sharply, requiring an immediate vent and lacking alternatives, he took it out on his wand.

“Blasted thing!” he spat and viscously hurled it into the corner of his office where it fell to the floor with an indifferent clutter. What an ugly, useless piece of wood!

However, this was not the time to ponder whether he should return it. Instead, Severus rushed towards his desk. His heart beat madly. Quickly, he surveyed the mess, parchments in disorder, drawers opened, books pushed to the floor. Snape swore profusely.

“What the hell _happened_?” Hermione Granger clambered into the room, across the remnants of the collapsed shelf, wand raised. With wide incredulous eyes, she surveyed the mess, gingerly stepping around the spilt liquids and the slimy shapes swimming in it, giving off a foul stink. “Are you alright??”

“I’m anything but alright!” hissed Snape. Furiously, he kicked at his office chair and sent it skidding across the floor which didn’t really make a whole lot of difference in the present state of the room.

“Who was that?” demanded Hermione. “Did you get a look at them?”

“No. He’s gone.”

“Gone where?”

Snape pointed across the room with a shaking hand. “Fireplace.”

“You left the fireplace open?” She cocked her brow and the know-it-all face he resented so much was firmly back in place. “Orders are not to keep fireplaces …”

“I know that!!” he shouted at her furiously.

Hermione clamped her mouth shut, but looked smug. She closely observed Snape who crossed the room in a few quick strides and picked up the wand from the corner where it had fallen. With an angry wave, he pointed it at the mess around his desk and the scattered papers rose and assorted themselves in more or less neat piles.

“Was it a student, you think?” Hermione asked after a few seconds.

“No student could do what this person just did”, Severus snarled. “Whoever was in here knew what they were doing. Knew how to fight.”

“Who could it have been?”

He glared at her, and she nodded quickly, realizing the stupidity of the question. She watched Snape for a while who sorted out his desk and then walked to the broken shelf, staring at the shattered jars with a pained expression. “My homunculus!” he moaned. “Took me years to find it! Never mind the Galleons I spent on it …”

“Do you think anything was stolen?”

“Not that I can tell right now”, he murmured. “And the destruction is quite bad enough, if you ask me.”

“Looks like they were looking for something. – And how the hell did they get in here? I’m sure you lock your office door, and with incantations probably …”

Snape looked up sharply, stared at her. Inadvertently, his eyes glided towards the fireplace.

“DAMN IT!” he shouted.

“What is it?” Hermione demanded.

“That fireplace is a one-way”, Snape explained and he blanched, “I know I’m not supposed to keep it open, but I thought it was safe to hold up a passage between here and my home …”

Hermione’s eyes widened again. “You have to check!” she commanded. “See if everything’s alright!”

He gulped, nodded, gripped his wand and dashed towards the fireplace, igniting it in the process.

“Wait!” cried Hermione. “I’m coming with you!”

He didn’t pay her any attention, though, merely grabbed a fistful of greenish powder from a bowl on the mantelpiece and muttered “Snape residence, Spinner’s End!” A second later, he had vanished in a greenish cloud.

 

His sitting room at Spinner’s End was even worse to behold than his office.

Literally every piece of furniture had been turned over, books ripped from their shelves and littering the floorboards, a lamp had been shattered, pictures hung at odd angles. And then his desk … Severus dashed towards it. Never mind that all papers were scattered on the floor and the contents of an ink bottle was seeping into the tattered carpet. He had no eyes for that, irritating as it might be. What plunged into his stomach like a fist was the realization that the secret compartment had been tampered with. Whoever had been at it had even succeeded in opening it a crack, although it was beyond Severus how that could have been accomplished. With a sinking heart, he noticed that something had been taken from the hidden drawer. Lily’s photograph. Or rather, the fraction of a photograph showing Lily smiling and waving, the one he had – more than a year ago – rescued from the rather unsuitable environment of Sirius Black’s old bedroom and kept here ever since, believing it safe. No matter what had happened in the meantime – that photograph was one of the few true treasures he possessed and he cherished it. To Snape, it was a relic with very specific powers.

He inhaled raggedly. Lily. Stolen. The only thing he still had of her. It was the height of cruelty, of unfairness. He bent over his desk and launched a torrent of swear words, but although they came out easily they brought him no relief, hardly even covered the searing pain inside of his chest. He was surprised at how much the loss of a picture – a fragment of one, at that – hurt him, even now after everything that had happened … He was about to issue a drawn-out howl when there was a crackle in the fireplace, green dust gushed forth and Hermione Granger stepped out. She surveyed the room with an incredulous stare. “Oh my …”, she sighed.

Snape was still standing at his desk, pressing thumb and forefinger onto the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “Will there never be an end to it? When will I finally be left in peace …?”

Hermione didn’t listen. She issued a shocked squeal instead and dashed across the ransacked room.

Severus looked up in irritation. “What now?”

But then he saw. Granger had gone to her knees, bending over something … _someone_ , to be exact. It was Gilly, the house-elf, lying behind a toppled armchair, unmoving.

Had Hermione not been so consumed in cooing over the little figure, she would have seen a surprising change on Snape’s face. The anger had evaporated, replaced by worry. He came nearer, knelt beside Hermione and took the little elf’s pulse.

“She’s alright”, he breathed after a while, “just out cold.”

“I never knew you had a house-elf!”

“Not now, Ms Granger, if you please! – Stay with her. I’ll get something from the cellar to wake her up.”

“And something for the bleeding, too. She’s got a wound at the back of her head, probably from when she fell.” Hermione held up a bloodied hand with which she had probed the house-elf’s bones and limbs.

Snape inhaled sharply, nodded and left the sitting room.

He came back quickly enough with a little bottle that he held under the elf’s nose. It took a few seconds, but then the huge eyelids fluttered and the small creature stared at them, clearly anxious and confused.

“Master”, Gilly gasped, “master … what … where is I?”

“You’re at home”, Snape said quietly, “don’t worry, you will be alright.”

The large eyes widened even more as memory came back. “There was someone in the house!” she whispered, looking shocked, “A person dressed in black! Gilly tell them they have no business being here, Gilly tell them this is master Snape’s house … and then … Gilly don’t remember …”

“Calm down”, Hermione said in her gentlest voice, “nobody is going to blame you. – Or are they?” She glared pointedly at Snape.

“Blame a hapless house-elf? Who do you think I am, Miss Granger?”

Hermione bit her lip, but didn’t respond. Since Gilly insisted on struggling up, she helped the little creature but insisted that she sit on the sofa (it was in a horrible state, the upholstery had been slashed and partly ripped out). Gilly stared around wildly. “This is …”, she gulped, “… this is … _terrible_!! … Oh!!” She threw up her hands to bury her face in it. “Gilly let an intruder into the house … my master’s house …” And she issued a pitiful drawn-out wail.

“Come on, now, hush, it’s not your fault …”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Let her be, Ms Granger. You know very well that she’ll insist on blaming herself, no matter what we tell her. She’ll also come off it after a while …”

But it wasn’t enough for Hermione. “You must _not_ blame yourself, Gilly”, she impressed on the elf, “you did nothing wrong, it’s just that there are people out there who want to hurt your master and make his life …”

“Hurt my master??” Gilly issued a hiccup and stared back and fro between the witch and the wizard grouped around her. She inhaled sharply, and in the next moment another high-pitched wail shook the already cracked walls of the cramped and tumultuous sitting room. “SOMEONE’S OUT TO HURT MY MASTER!! And Gilly cannot do ANYTHING!!” She reached for a large book lying on the floor beside her and held it over her head with the obvious intention of hurting herself with it. Hermione, however, was quicker and wrenched it out of the little creature’s hands, whereupon Gilly proceeded to slap herself with the palms of her large hands.

“No, Gilly, don’t …!”

“Why, thank you very much, Miss Granger”, Snape drawled, “now I have a ransacked home and a hysterical house-elf on my hands …”

“… HURT MY MASTER …”

“Gilly, I told you, it’s not personal …”

“… AND GILLY IS ONLY A STUPID USELESS HOUSE-ELF … OWWWW …”

This was the moment Snape reached the end of his tether.

“STOP IT ALREADY!!” he thundered at the miserable elf. “What do you think your hysterics will do for me? Pull yourself together, you good-for-nothing creature!”

Hermione took a huffy breath, but Gilly’s wailing stopped. She stared at Snape with wide eyes. The latter glowered down at her from where he was standing, looking gloomy and distinctly impressive. “Your behaviour is undignified”, he growled some more, “go now, clean yourself up and get some rest. – And when you’re finished … well, there’s work to be done!” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand, encompassing the room.

“Professor, you shouldn’t …” But Hermione was silenced with an abrupt jerk of Snape’s head.

Gilly hopped from the sofa, gazing up at the wizard with a subservient look. “Yes, master”, she whispered, “Gilly understand. Gilly behave very badly. Not worthy of a powerful wizard’s house-elf.”

“Well, we both know you can do better”, Snape said tersely. “Go to your bed now and rest. I’ll look in with something for your head wound.”

Gilly nodded obligingly and without wasting one look at Hermione, she slouched out of the room, looking downcast and like someone firmly put in their place.

“How can you talk to her like that?” Hermione hissed heatedly when Gilly had gone. “She got hurt, for God’s sake, trying to protect _your_ house! You should show her some kindness!”

Severus sighed. He’d had that kind of conversation quite a number of times recently. “Maybe you could accept that there are some things about the wizarding worlds that Muggle-borns cannot possibly understand? Such as the psychological make-ups of house-elves?”

“Says the guy who was born in this white-trash dump!”

The second she heard her own words, Hermione pressed her lips shut and gazed at Snape adamantly. To her surprise, he smiled crookedly. “You’re quite right, Miss Granger. The first time I encountered house-elves – visiting relatives with my mother as a boy – I thought they were ridiculous. I made a point of tripping them up, creating an extra mess just to anger them.” His sardonic smile increased with every dark look Hermione shot him. “In other words, I behaved every bit like an uncouth Muggle idiot would. I projected the world I knew then onto the wizarding sphere, and that will never work, I can tell you. You better remember that.”

For a moment, Hermione seemed lost for words. Maybe she realized at that moment that Snape, who’d she only ever known as surly and sarcastic, had just imparted an unexpected bit of personal news. Then she composed herself. “I will _never_ accept slavery!” she said indignantly. “Nor animal cruelty, or any kind of suppression …”

“Ah, but you have to admit that my way of shutting her up was more effective than your molly-coddling!”

“You scared her into shutting up!”

Another crooked smile. “No, Miss Granger, I don’t think so. I reminded her of who she is, that’s all.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but Severus didn’t see it because he had turned to look for something. He found it, too, a still intact bottle of Ogden’s Old Fire Whiskey, sitting beneath the remnants of a torn-apart bookshelf. “Want one?” he asked her, and the young witch recoiled a little at the unexpected offer.

“Alright”, she said after a while, not exactly because she was keen on alcohol, but because she was intrigued. Offering a drink to someone was, after all, a sign of an openness, of a willingness, however fleeting, to accept the other person as an equal. So she waited, perched on the edge of the sofa, until Snape had come back from the kitchen with two clean glasses which he filled generously before handing her one of it.

“Should you do that, Professor?” she asked a little teasingly. “A Hogwarts teacher offering a student alcohol would raise a few of your colleagues’ eyebrows, don’t you think?”

Snape shrugged and sat down beside her. “I never cared very much for anyone’s brows”, he said simply.

“Of course not”, Hermione scoffed and sipped at her glass. The whiskey burned on her tongue, but it was mellow when she swallowed it.

They sat in peace for a little while and surveyed the mess in the cramped little room.

“Was anything stolen here?” Hermione asked after a fashion.

“Yes”, he said with another gloomy scowl, “but it was nothing of value. Not to the thief, anyway.”

“But to you.”

He wiped the words away with a gesture that indicated that he did not wish to speak about it.

“What was the purpose of all this, you think?”

“To rattle me”, Snape said without a trace of uncertainty.

“And one day before the trial, too. – I mean, the _hearing_ …”

“I know what you mean. It _is_ a trial. I have no illusions about that.”

“Maybe a little like they tried with Harry at the start of fifth year?” Hermione suggested. “It was nothing but a scam to discredit him.”

“Obviously. But Mr Potter had Dumbledore to speak on his behalf.”

“He spoke on your behalf, as well, for years if I’m not mistaken.”

“True.” Snape stared into his glass. “And fate saw it fit that I had to kill the man who would have been on my side. – I’m not complaining, mind you. But I can’t help seeing the irony. And if I’m not entirely wrong, that very killing might get me into serious trouble come tomorrow.”

“You think they’re going to dispute the death pact?” Hermione looked alarmed. “But they can’t! The war could not have been won in any other way, Harry said so to the Wizengamot!” She gulped. “You see, he showed me those memories in the Pensieve …”

“ _My_ memories”, Snape said dryly.

“You gave them to Harry”, Hermione said belligerently. “And after all that happened, they have become the possession of the magical world.”

“To be twisted against me”, Snape sighed. “You said it yourself when you spoke to Gilly: people are out there who want to make my life difficult. I have been warned that the least they want to do is ruin my reputation. _Beyond repair_ , I’ve been told.”

“We’re on your side”, Hermione stated firmly, “Harry and I, anyway. Remus, too. The Weasleys. Ron … well, Ron is Ron, I will say what he thinks, but he was there with us, all the time, he knows how things played out, he would never …”

“You don’t have to defend your boyfriend, Miss Granger”, Snape smiled sarcastically. “Like I said, I don’t care much about what other people think of me.”

“But you should. Tomorrow, at least!”

“What are you saying?”

“You should …”, Hermione took a deep breath, “maybe try not to come over too arrogantly.”

“Arrogantly!” Severus scoffed.

“Yes, arrogantly!” She had her belligerent face on again. “I know you always used to say that Harry’s dad was arrogant. But do you know how the mistakes that irk us most in others are usually our own?”

Severus Snape surveyed her with distant amusement.

“All I’m saying is”, Hermione went on, “that you should perhaps swallow your pride and let people see that you have feelings. That you are not as cold and unmoved as you make out.”

“But maybe I am?” he suggested, and there was a strange glitter in his eyes.

Hermione shook her head. “No, you’re not. You wouldn’t have done what you did … for Harry … for Lily Evans … if you were.”

Snape looked at her, and his expression was inscrutable. Hermione Granger would never know what he really thought. That she was right, that in fact he had trained himself not to show any emotions ever, since in his experience they made him vulnerable. That he was grateful she had referred to Lily by her maiden name. And that he had just realized – not for the first time, if truth be told – that Granger was by far the lesser evil of the Golden Trio. In many ways, she reminded him of Lily; a Muggle born, gutsy, bright and very much aware of her right to an opinion and a very individual worldview. Lily, however, had never been a nerdy know-it-all.

And then it came back. Lily. The photograph. Stolen.

Quickly, he got up from the sofa and walked across the room, glass in hand, to straighten out something on his desk, but really to mask the emotion that he felt was taking over his face. “You should go back”, he said, “don’t you have work to do? – And I should look after that maudlin house-elf.”

“You’re right”, Hermione got up. “I have loads to prepare for Potions and Arithmancy. I mean, I love it, but there’s a lot still to do before N.E.W.T.s … - Anyway, shouldn’t you report this?”

“To who?” Again, he looked almost amused. “To the Ministry whose sole objective is to wheel me out and parade me in front of the public?”

“The Ministry is not a person, Professor. Much rather, it consists of a range of people with their very own opinions.”

“Thanks for reminding me.” Snape hid his awkward grin in the whiskey glass which he drained in one gulp.

“Best of luck for tomorrow”, she said, though a little dispiritedly. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”

“Which will make all the difference, I’m sure.”

Instead of being affronted at the sardonic comment, Hermione smiled very slightly. “I know it means something to you. You would never admit to it, but I know you’re not that cold. – Elena’s very sure of it, by the way.”

These words earned a sharp turn of his head and another very dark scowl. It was how Hermione Granger knew that she had got to him – again. She put her whiskey glass on the floor – the coffee table had ended up in an entirely different corner of the room – and walked over to the fireplace in measured steps. “Thanks for the drink, Professor”, she said while she grabbed a fistful of green Floo Powder, “and I hope it won’t take you too long to clean up the mess.”

“I’ve got an house-elf to do that”, Snape almost sang the words and grinned at her crookedly.

Hermione grinned back. She was beginning to see that being teased by Severus Snape was the closest thing to affection with him. Had he hated her, he would not even have bothered to wind her up. So she flashed him a smile, stepped into the fireplace and chimed out “Hogwarts. Professor Snape’s office!”

And a second later, green dust had swallowed her up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lately, I have read a lot of fan-fictions pairing Hermione and Severus, some of which I really enjoyed. Makes sense, too – they’re both bright, opinionated and won’t let anyone bully them. It’s easy for me to see what they might share, apart from the baggage. So I thought it would be nice to put those two in a scene and let them interact.


	5. Before the Trial

**Before the Trial**

 

The last few hours of the night had brought snow. It came early in the year, harbinger of a long winter. Already, the delicate white layer covering the gravel path and tombstones muffled all sounds and a moody ferrous-smelling wind stirred up the flakes in powdery drifts. It was the kind of wind that crept into your bones and inadvertently made you draw your coat, jacket or whatever closer around you. The man who was standing in the graveyard at a rather ungodly hour, however, did not appear to notice it. He did not move, more resembling a statue than a living person, and had not his black hair and cloak stirred in the gusts, the illusion would have been perfect.

An observer might have wondered what he was doing there, for although the man was standing in front of one of the graves, he did not appear to be praying. If truth be told, he did not seem like the kneeling kind at all; from his straight back and the utter lack of movement, he rather gave the impression of a self-controlled rationalist who might have sneered at religious concepts, sin, forgiveness, redemption and what have you. Also he stood slightly turned away from the tombstone, as if he didn’t really want to acknowledge it. – However, there were no observers. The bells of the nearby little church had only just struck six o’clock in the morning, and except for this strange visitor, the Godric’s Hollow graveyard was deserted.

Of course, Severus Snape did not pray. Although he had been brought up by his mother to believe, the events in his life had persuaded him long ago that God was – like most beings – not very fond of him, and so he had in time protected himself against that by making a point of not being very fond of God. That, however, did not mean that he refuted the idea of the soul and the notion of the souls of the dead going somewhere – _beyond_ , for lack of a better word. Said _beyond_ was an enchanted place to him because someone lived there who made it so. He had come to visit this someone, the sight of the tombstone serving as a connection – in his mind at least – between the material and the spiritual world. By standing slightly turned away, he made sure that only _her_ name was in his field of vision, not that of her husband, although he knew how ridiculous and immature it was after all this time. Yet in this way, he could almost persuade himself that he was paying Lily a secret visit behind James Potter’s back, and a very thrilling thought that was.

As always, it took him a while to get into the fantasy. He was not, per se, a dreamer. He knew from experience, however, that once he entered it, he might find the precarious balance when their conversation would almost seem real.

“Sorry I couldn’t make it for All Saints”, he muttered very quietly, too embarrassed by the sound of his own voice in this muffled wintery silence. “I know I never missed it before, but this time something got in the way. – Bloody Halloween.”

A bout of wind rustled the leaves and branches of a nearby elm tree – it was an old elm, preserved by magic from the fate that had befallen its brothers and sisters throughout the country – and Severus could imagine that he heard Lily give a low chuckle and say something like ‘Tell me about it!’ These conversations where he said something and imagined her answer were a well-established ritual for him which he had started almost at the same moment that he had heard of her death. Of course, it had started with long tirades of apology then, rendered while he was lying prostrate on the stone floor of his Hogwarts quarters, sobbing, drooling, and begging her to please, please, please forgive him. She hadn’t answered back then, or maybe he hadn’t heard her or simply not allowed for the possibility that she might still want anything to do with him. Over the years, however, he had gone into the habit of perusing some difficult decisions by way of an imagined dialogue with his long-gone childhood friend. It was one of the things that he would never have confessed to anyone, especially because the solace these conversations brought him embarrassed his rational mind.

“I came here today”, he went on in what was almost a whisper, “to ask for your support. That hearing. You know I’m not good at that kind of thing. – And of course I know that there is nothing you can do about it. But you were always so good with words, so I thought that maybe you could …” He broke off, unsure what he’d been about to say. ‘… give me a piece of your ability to talk to people’? ‘Inspire me with the right words at the right moment’? It sounded too egoistic to put into words. “The thing is”, he struggled on, “I’m afraid I cannot afford to … come over as I usually do. I don’t normally care about being liked. This time, however …”

Again, the wind rustled the trees. He closed his eyes, allowed cold flakes to touch his face, and strained his inner ear to perceive an answer. But there was none, maybe because he was too anxious.

“Someone stole your photograph, by the way. I’m sorry about that, I thought it was safe.” The pain of the theft tore at him and brought him face to face with feelings of guilt, as if – again – he had been too careless where she was concerned, had not thought things through well enough, like he had all those years ago when he’d overheard that prophecy and had nothing else to do than run to the Dark Lord and tell him. “I should have carried it on me at all times, and this would not have happened.”

The wind sang, blowing sharply around St. Clementine’s bell tower.

_‘It mattered to you, Sev, not to me. And you carry my picture in your heart, don’t you?’_

His eyes were still closed, and it made him smile that he’d finally found her voice. The pitch was perfect in his mind, he could hear her amusement and immediately he felt a little better.

“Of course I do”, he murmured. “Always.”

It brought him to a different topic, one he’d been carrying around with himself for a couple of weeks now. He didn’t see how he could keep it from her. Honesty was, after all, a vital part of these imagined conversations, the kind of honesty, in fact, that they had never found in real life because their relationship had been too laden with difficulty, unspoken feelings and unspoken worries.

“All what’s happening right now – that hearing, tables turning against me – couldn’t have happened at a worse time.” He took a deep breath. “You see, there’s been someone.” He stopped, listening for an answer, but the wind was quiet as if asking him to go on. “I don’t even know how she came to be in my life. I certainly didn’t invite her. Or maybe I did, but that was just because I was so bored … one can actually be bored out of their wits, you know.” He chuckled to himself, imagining Lily’s grin. “Anyway, she’s here, and things have happened.”

_‘Things?’_

“You know …”

_‘Ah, I see …’_

“Yeah.” He felt the colour rising in his cheeks, which was ridiculous considering that this was an imagined conversation. “It was an extreme situation, you see. We both thought we were going to die. You know how time quality changes in such a situation? Suddenly, anything is possible. – But we didn’t die. We’re still here and now there’s this _thing_ between us …”

_‘Wasn’t it nice?’_

He rolled his eyes. “Now that’s a bloody Gryffindor comment. – Yes, it was _nice_. But I don’t know how to go on!”

_‘How is that, Sev?’_

“I wasn’t allowed to see her for more than two weeks”, he lamented. “Now I don’t know _who_ she is anymore, how she thinks about it. She’s a Muggle, you see … well, she used to be until recently, but she’s still very much part of their world. TVs, stereos, fashion – the works. Muggles take these things … intimacy … very lightly.”

_‘Do they?’_

“I think so”, he said, a little uncertain. “Permissive society, they call it.”

_‘And what’s your problem with that?’_

“She might have come to regret it. Think of it as a folly. Perhaps it was something she wouldn’t ordinarily have done.” No answer this time, so he went on. “She’s young. Beautiful, too. There is no good reason why she would hook herself to _me_ , because she could have her pick, much as you. Why would she choose a sour old grump?”

But Lily had no reply to that, either.

“The way I see it, this can only end in disaster. Ridicule, too.”

This time, the answer came in the form of a memory. Lily, at age thirteen, challenging him about his manners. “You know what, Sev? If you weren’t so afraid all the time of people laughing at you, you’d be far more relaxed. You see, people do like to laugh at others, they always have, it’s not personal! If you just didn’t mind so much, your life might be easier …” The words hadn’t reached him then; in fact, the thirteen-year old Severus Snape had resented her for counselling him. Now, however, they drifted towards him from the past and left an imprint on his soul.

“Alright, forget ridicule then”, he snarled. “There is something else, too. For instance, I can’t possibly be a _boyfriend_!” He shuddered. “What am I supposed to do? Shower her with presents? I don’t even have an idea what she likes. Dote on her, pay her compliments, hoping that it would be enough to make her stay? I wouldn’t know how to do that, either. – Plus, it would be …” He’d been about to say ‘ridiculous’ or ‘undignified’, but suspected it would only make Lily sneer.

He looked up at the sky. In spite of the heavy grey clouds, it had lightened considerably since he’d arrived, reminding him that the hour of the trial – in his mind, he had stopped calling it a ‘hearing’ or an ‘inquiry’ – came ever nearer. He flexed his fingers in the pockets of his coat and re-focussed on the conversation with beyond.

“I will not be put into that position again, Lily!” he continued, sounding increasingly feverish. “Waiting for her, hoping, reading into her every word and look, I just can’t have it!” He shook his head ferociously.

_‘So this is all about your fears, then? Not about the girl, at all?’_

“How can you say that??” he flared.

_‘I’ve known you since I was nine.’_

Drat. Even in death, she always had the right answer. As much as he had always valued his own cleverness (and indeed, it was about the only thing that he liked about himself), it had never got him anywhere with Lily. First of all, she’d been very well able to match him; second, she was bright in a way that he wasn’t, she knew about people and what moved them, had always known, as if she were able to peek into their souls.

“I _do_ care for her”, he insisted. “She saved my life. Twice. And she has loads of magic, she just needs to learn more, she’s going to be great!” He broke off again, because Lily was giving him an ironic look. “I know, I know. It’s not that. It’s her. She’s been the only person in decades that I truly cared about …” He broke off because something had occurred to him, something he thought important. “Of course, that does not mean that I don’t love you anymore. You’ll always be in my heart.”

Her laughter was masked by the singsong of a bird in the elm tree. _‘Get off it, Sev! You think I don’t know that?’_

“Good”, he said, feeling lighter. “And as you know, I never asked for survival. If it had been up to me, that snake would have killed me alright and I wouldn’t have to bother you with … all this.”

_‘I’m dead. And you’re alive.’_

“Exactly”, he said gloomily. “I’m doomed to stick it out. People in my family get very old, you know. On the Prince side, anyway. – What I’m saying is, if there wasn’t this hearing or the rumours about people wanting to take revenge on me … I might be able to see clearer where Elena is concerned.”

_‘Love is risk.’_

He scoffed. “Of course you’d say something like that.”

The bird piped up again – it sounded angry, perhaps it was frustrated by the early winter – and carried her laughter, which was not angry at all but definitely mirthful. It made him smile.

“No advice for me, then?”

But there was no answer. Intuitively, he knew that she’d said everything that she wanted to say. It was then that he finally moved, and out from under his travelling cloak he produced a bunch of greenhouse lilies. He knelt down, cleared some space on the grave – as always, it was littered with flowers, stuffed hippogriffs and all sorts of stupid presents – and put them down carefully. With the tips of his fingers, he stroked the plump petals, fresh and crisp as a young girl’s skin. Suddenly, his eyes pricked. He pressed the lids shut until the wave of sentiment had washed over him, then opened them again and checked the church tower for the time. He hadn’t realized he’d spent so much of it here, but then, he always forgot the minutes and hours when he was talking to Lily.

“I hope you like them”, he murmured. “Sprout never saw the point of having them in the greenhouse, but I make her keep them. By now, she can probably guess why. They all know now, you see.” He wanted to add that he was once again the laughing stock of the wizarding world, but he remembered her comment about his fear of being made a fool of, so he kept quiet.

He stood up and gave the grave one last lookover. Then he turned on his heel and walked away on the thin layer of snow, leaving footprints. The graveyard gates screeched pitifully as he passed, but there was still no one about who could have been offended by it. Swiftly, he walked through the village, savouring the last moments in this place which in his mind was also the place where Lily lived.

A short while later, he walked by the statue showing a young family, the woman holding a baby in her arms. The sculpture had always irritated him, because it had shown him something he never wanted to acknowledge. However, since he’d found that old letter from her to Sirius Black – the one he’d found along with the fragment of a photograph that was now stolen and kept in an unknown location – he had realized how much she had loved family life, being a mother. For some reason, this realization had changed his perception of the statue. It showed him that for a short while, at least, Lily had been very happy.

And in a twisted way, that made him a little happy, too.

 


	6. Courtroom Ten

**Courtroom Ten**

 

“You must be kidding, Eddie!”

But Eddard Hincks wasn’t kidding. Instead, he was standing in front of the door, shoulders squared, and tried hard at an impassive face. He was also blocking Elena’s way into Courtroom Ten down in the dungeons of the Ministry of Magic where the hearing was about to take place. It was already packed, as she could see when she peaked over the young wizard’s shoulder, there was a hum of voices and noises as people squeezed by one another to get to their seats. In front of the large winged doors, as well, throngs of wizards and witches were waiting, craning their necks. Clearly, the appearance of Severus Snape before the Wizengamot was the high point of the season.

“I don’t have to have a seat”, Elena tried again, working hard to keep petulance out of her voice, “I’m happy to stand at the back, just so that I can hear. – Come on, the guy is my teacher!”

“I already explained to you!” Eddie looked pained. “The people allowed to go in are hand-picked. Only select members of the wizarding community …”

“And I’m not _select_ , am I?” She couldn’t quite resist sarcasm. “No matter that I was attacked along with him, that I was even kidnapped and used as bait?! Oh, and let’s not forget the detail that I saved both our arses a tiny little bit …”

“Be that as it may. – If you want to go in there, you should have put your name down on the list in time!”

“Nobody told me about any fucking list!”

“I’m sorry about that.” Eddie didn’t look sorry at all. In fact, there was something triumphant in the way he straightened up once more to more effectively block the door.

Elena appraised him from head to toe. For a few seconds, she wondered whether she should get the big guns out. Mollycoddle him, flirt with him even, remind him of their friendship and tell him how much it meant to her. However, she decided against it. It was simply not fair, using the weakness he clearly had for her. Also, she had done this way too often, string along the nice guy that you weren’t actually interested in, and act aloof towards the one you really liked. It was childish, and in addition she still had her friend Katja’s words in her ear – _break the pattern_. And although she hadn’t quite made up her mind yet as to how breaking patterns might look for her, she sensed that it must also apply to her well-established strategies of getting what she wanted.

“Your last word?” she challenged Eddie, looking strict.

“Yes, ma’am”, he replied firmly, albeit with a slight flicker in his eyes.

From inside the hall a voice boomed “Close the doors, please, session is about to begin!”

Eddie turned – as did half a dozen of Ministry officials guarding the other doors – grabbed at the wings and pressed them shut. Elena caught a last glimpse of the shuffling bodies inside, heard the whispers as of a large nest of bees and hissed shushing. Her stomach grumbled. So that was it. Around her, people looked almost as disappointed as she probably did, issued rueful sounds and turned away with shrugs.

“Pity”, she heard a middle-aged wizard say to who was probably his wife, “I would have loved to see that old turncoat grilled.”

Elena cast a dark look in the man’s direction, but he didn’t notice, merely walked away with his companion. _The old turncoat …_ It reminded her of a commentary she had read in the _Daily Prophet_ – duly delivered to her every day by owl – just the day before, where someone had written that _‘… observers must not expect too much from this inquiry,_ _because almost certainly Severus Snape will do as he has always done, stay silent, teeter between light and dark, in order to finally quietly slip back into his hole again, leaving the rest of us none the wiser.’_ As unconceivable as it was to her, this had certainly been a piece that represented quite well a considerable portion of the wizarding world’s attitude towards the man. Elena knew how opinions were made, the Muggle tabloids being experts at it. Pick up a shared fear or hidden doubt and play on it – it was ridiculously simple, and worked even better if the person to whom the fear and doubt referred was not very lovable altogether. It was enough to make most people disregard all the good that this person had done. – And of course, in the case of Severus Snape, there was a lot of doubt. Specifically, there was a past that many found difficult to forget …

Elena turned away from Eddie – deliberately ignoring the imploring look he cast after her – and she walked the length of the curved wall behind which the hearing proceeded in this very minute. Ministry officials stood at regular intervals, looking grim and watching the people still crowding the corridor. Not all of them had any intention of leaving, in fact, Elena saw not a small number of would-be spectators installing themselves on the marble stone floor, leaning against pillars and obviously determined to wait it out. She went on down the corridor that led around the entire hall in a perfect circle. The hum of voices was too loud to hear anything escaping from gaps in the doors. She had no way of knowing what was going on inside, could only imagine. However, imagining in too great detail made her even more nervous than she already was, and so she tried not to think too much. – Much better to find a way to get in, anyway!

But she saw immediately that it was not going to be easy. After she had walked down more than half circle, she found a door which was sieged by a thick knot of people, hushing each other and leaning in. The official guarding this door was an elderly wizard and he did not seem to take his job quite as seriously as Eddie, but happily sucked at a pipe spreading a sickly-sweet aroma. She saw now that for some reason the door didn’t close properly and snippets of what was going on inside could be heard. Her heart started to drum as she came nearer and she managed to squeeze in between the waiting and listening people. Every time a gap opened up, she quickly filled it, and in that manner she edged closer and closer until she was able to discern faint murmuring.

_“… Severus Tobias Snape, born 9 th of January, 1960, in Cokesworth, father Tobias Snape, Muggle and factory worker, mother …”_

The sound of his voice was so familiar in spite of how faint it was that it sent a shiver through her body. How long hadn’t she heard that voice, that low silky timbre of his? And she knew it well enough by now to be able to guess at his mood – he sounded cool and resigned. Elena would have given anything to get a glimpse of him, but all that she could do was wait here in the midst of a restless throng of bodies, hoping to catch as much as possible.

“Not as old as I thought he was”, someone remarked, “must have been nothing more than a puppy when he got into all that mess …”

“Sshhh, shut your gob, Petey!”

From the hall in which the Wizengamot was assembled, a woman’s voice rang out. It was much louder than Snape’s had been, but also very clear and authoritative. _“Would you please explain to the Wizengamot, Professor Snape, how you came to know Pavel Volodimir Leshnikov?”_

Elena could hear Severus clear his throat, but when he spoke, his voice was so low she could only discern single words – _“… owl … parchments in blood … attack … tongue-tie …”_

“What’s he saying?” the wizard by the name of Petey lamented. “I can’t hear a single damn word!”

“And we can hear even less if you don’t shut it any time soon!”

“Hey, people, let’s not get into a quarrel here, we all want to listen …”

“And you better be nice about it”, the elderly official snarled, shaking his pipe threateningly, “or I’ll have you all carted off! I’m doing you people a favour here.”

“Sssshhh!”

There was some commotion, bodies pressing back and forth irritably, before the knot settled down a bit.

 _“ … and you had never had any dealings with Mr Leshnikov before that point? …”_ Again, the female coming from the hall was loud and clear, obviously magically amplified.

 _“No, Madam Chief Warlock, I had never …”_ The rest of Snape’s words were drowned out by the rustles and whispers coming from the hall. Elena groaned inwardly. Hearing only snippets was worse for some reason than hearing nothing at all! With a sigh, she extracted herself from the knot where her spot was instantly filled by a small squat witch squeezing in. Elena was back in the corridor, slowly taking up her stroll along its circle path again.

Every now and then, one of the doors opened because an official went in or a spectator came out. Whenever that happened, she hastened closer, strained her ears. Once, she heard a man’s voice from inside, sounding like something rattling in a tin can, but otherwise clearly audible; she immediately recognized it at that of Ansgard Periwinkle. So the man who had taken her testimony was also on the Board of Inquirers? She had no understanding of the law, magical or Muggle, but doubted whether this would have been admissible in her original sphere.

 _“Tell us more about how that Time Turner came into play, Professor”_ , Periwinkle’s was demanding, _“I’m wondering what made you carry it around with you? I’m sure you know that all Time Turners were deemed to be turned in with the Ministry after an incident of more than two years ago, when …”_

The open door was shut in Elena’s face – she had come quite close – by a very large man in Ministry robes. “Sorry, dear. Closed session.” He wasn’t unkind, even gave her a rueful look.

She shrugged, walked on and came back full circle to the door Eddie guarded.

“I have a proposition!” she accosted him with her brightest smile. Eddie frowned. “It’s something you can easily do. Just open the door a tiny fraction and let me stand here beside you. Only enough for me to listen in a bit …”

Eddie’s mouth became a thin line. “You just don’t get it, do you? I’m a Ministry official and I have orders. I can’t make an exception!”

“There’s an old geezer over there who doesn’t care one way or another, I’m sure you could …”

“I have only been with the Ministry for a year”, Eddie said, sounding – alas – quite reasonable. “Old Caruthers can do as he likes, he’s been working here forever, but I have to watch my back, don’t you see?”

Elena drew up her shoulders and let them fall with a huge sigh. “I understand, Eddie, I do, don’t get me wrong, but …”

“Why is it so important for you to get in there, anyway?”

Elena looked up, stared at him. Was she really hearing this?

“You know why!” she said testily.

“No, I don’t. I mean, you can read all about it in the _Prophet_ tomorrow. Plus, since you and Snape are thick as thieves, he’ll probably let you know how it went down, won’t he?” His eyes had widened and searched her face. With a jolt, Elena recognized puzzlement and hope. Again, she heard Katja’s voice in her head – _Break the pattern_. In this moment, she understood it as _Be clear. Send unambiguous messages._ Elena took a deep breath.

“It’s you who doesn’t understand”, she said to Eddie.

“Understand _what_?”

“I’m in love with him. I need to hear how he’s doing.”

Eddie’s face fell. He stared at her incredulously. “You’re not serious!” he spat.

“I am. Dead serious. – So how about opening that door a bit?”

His face became a mask. After a few seconds, while she held his gaze and didn’t allow herself to blink, he slowly shook his head. “No way. I won’t.”

“Suit yourself then”, she said curtly and turned away, acutely aware of the hole Eddie’s stare burnt into her back. She was back to square one, of course, standing in the corridor without a plan. At the same time, she felt a little lighter and thought it funny. Was that what owning up to one’s feelings could do? Why, she hadn’t even admitted that much to herself! However, it was true. She _was_ in love with Severus Snape, her every waking moment was filled with thoughts of him, and her dreams, too. It had been like that for months, and now that she had spoken it out loud, she felt a pleasant sense of orderliness within herself, no shame at all, no embarrassment. She started grinning and was, in fact, so busy with it she almost overheard that someone was trying to get her attention.

“Oi! Ellie!”

She looked up and realized that the door next to Eddie’s had opened a fraction. In its gap stood Hermione Granger, hectically beckoning to her.

Suddenly alert, Elena dashed towards the door. The Ministry official guarding it stepped in, but Hermione glared at him from the gap, as if to say ‘Don’t you know who I am??’ Taken aback, the official recoiled a little and made no attempt to dissuade Elena from coming closer.

“Didn’t you get a seat in time?” Hermione hissed to her.

“I didn’t even know there was a list!”

“Oh.” Hermione screwed up her face and it was obvious that she was thinking hard. “Wait here”, she commanded after a fashion and the gap in the door closed.

Elena stayed rooted to her spot, skin tingling. If she knew anything about Hermione Granger, it was that she was probably one of the brightest witches in the wizarding world and a true hero at that (not an anti-hero, which was the best description for Snape, but the real deal). If she couldn’t think of something, no one could. So Elena stared at the winged door, waited, her breath held.

The door opened again after approximately three minutes. However, it was not Hermione who slipped out, but none other than Harry Potter. He grinned at Elena, then nodded at the guard who straightened up and stood to attention. “Mr Potter, sir!”

Harry came towards Elena. “Come on”, he whispered to her, “somewhere quiet.”

Together, they crossed the corridor and took an exit that led them to a low-ceilinged anteroom. There was hardly anyone about and yet Harry grabbed Elena’s wrist and led her into an alcove for more privacy. She noticed that he was carrying something under his robes.

“Hermione said you want to get in”, Harry whispered conspiratorially. “And I have just the thing … we have to be careful, though …”

Elena watched in fascination as he pulled forth a bundle from under his robes. It was a textile of some sort, iridescent and folded up neatly. She had never seen a fabric like that. When Harry spread it out, it seemed almost transparent and Elena noticed that it was a cloak.

Harry looked at her. “Invisibility cloak”, he explained matter-of-factly. “Very useful.”

Elena suppressed a squeal by clamping a hand over her mouth. “ _Harry Potter_ , you are …”

“… a wizard. I know.”

Harry helped Elena into the cloak and she watched in amazement how her physical presence vanished. She could even hold up her hand in front of her face, but as long as it was covered by the shiny fabric, it was … well, simply gone.

“That’s … great!” she said, very much touched and once again marvelling at the wonders of the magical world.

“Yes, but you still have to watch it. You may be invisible, but not _untouchable_. Don’t bump into anyone!”

“I’ll be careful”, she promised, revelling in being invisible. This was, after all, any child’s dream come true!

Feeling quite light all of a sudden, she trudged after Harry back to the winged doors. The official guarding it bowed a little and opened it for The Boy Who Lived. Harry acknowledged this with a friendly smile, but dawdled on the threshold to give Elena the chance to slip in beside him. Then the winged doors closed behind them.

Elena found herself standing at the back of a large amphitheatre with rows of seats arranged in a semi-circle around a platform on the lowermost level. On the platform stood a chair, or really a kind of throne, and on it the black-clad unmoving figure of Severus Snape was seated. Elena saw his sharp profile and her heart missed a beat. He was facing a pulpit on which a plump grey-haired witch sat, as well as a bench of five witches and wizards with serious faces. Directly behind Snape were the seats of the Wizengamot members, or at least that was what Elena guessed from their very formal black robes and pointed hats. On the side lines, a few people in ordinary robes were scribbling away, or in some cases their quills did the job for them – journalists, no doubt. Behind the Wizangamot members, the so-called public was seated – those at least who had got their names on the list in due time. The light in the courtroom was very dim, only about a dozen torches floated near the ceiling. These were, after all, the dungeons of the Ministry. However, it was hot and due to the packed state, there was a constant hum of whispers, rustling of clothes and squeaks from chairs in which bodies shifted.

“Are you there?” Harry whispered.

“Yeah. Right behind you.”

Harry nodded and took the lead, moving down a number of steps in one of the aisles of the amphitheatre. Elena followed closely, careful not to touch anyone in her invisible state, although that was difficult because the rows were so crowded that some spectators had chosen to sit on the steps. This was how the lecture hall of Vienna university had looked like on the very first day of Elena’s studies of linguistics. Finally, Harry entered a row and squeezed past grumbling witches and wizards – he did so very slowly to make sure that Elena could follow in his wake – towards an empty seat. On either side of that, Elena recognized familiar faces. One was Hermione’s, who grinned over Harry’s shoulder, knowing that Elena was there under his Invisibility Cloak. Beside her sat a red-haired gangly boy who looked a bit bored, no doubt the boyfriend she had mentioned a few times (Elena had never been quite able to tell whether she was more fond of him than frustrated with him, or vice versa); and Remus Lupin, leaning forward in his seat and following proceedings with a look of concentration on his face. When Elena passed the werewolf, she couldn’t resist ruffling his hair and whispered “Hi, stranger”.

Remus looked up in confusion, then cottoned on and grinned. “Why, if it’s not our witch-in-the-making”, he murmured, “nice rags.”

Elena giggled and squeezed into the little space that Hermione made between her own chair and that of Lupin by almost sliding on to her boyfriend’s lap. Squeezing into the seat, Elena – not for the first time in her life – wished that her hips and behind were just a teensy bit slimmer.

“You haven’t missed much”, Hermione said under her breath, “it was all about Leshnikov, what he did, what he wanted and all that. Pretty much the same questions they asked you.”

“And how is he doing?”

“Alright. He presented the facts, appeared very sober about it.” She made a face. “I just wish he wouldn’t come over quite so aloof …”

Elena frowned at her, then remembered that Hermione could not see it. “You think that might be a problem?”

“This trial … this _hearing_ , I mean … it’s all about character. That’s what really made people come here. To form an impression of Snape, or re-evaluate him.” She sighed. “I don’t know if that’s working so well … I’ll say one thing for them, though, that at least they didn’t bind Snape to that chair as they did with Harry when he had his disciplinary hearing.”

“ _Bind him_??” Elena couldn’t believe her ears.

“Yeah. They aren’t altogether queasy about these things …”

“Who are you talking to??” The red-haired boy suddenly leant in, looking puzzled.

Hermione shushed him. “Elena’s here”, she whispered to him, “she’s wearing Harry’s Invisibility Cloak.”

“Ah. Her.” He didn’t look too enthusiastic.

“Elena, this is Ron”, Hermione whispered quickly, “my dimmer half.”

Ron shot a suspicious look at the place where he guessed Elena was and raised an eyebrow, “Hi there. – And just for the record, I _may_ be dimmer than my girlfriend, but I don’t let myself get sloshed on Fire Whiskey by Snape!”

“Quiet down there”, someone in the row behind them hissed, “or I’ll get an orderly!”

They shut up, Ron with a shrug and Hermione with a smug look on her face. Elena scrutinized the witch beside her from under the Invisibility Cloak. Had she just heard right? Hermione and Severus? Fire Whiskey? She felt a distinct sting and heat coming to her cheeks. Thank God for being invisible …

She concentrated on the proceedings. There had been a small break during which the members of the bench had quietly conversed with one another and shuffled through piles of papers. All the while, Snape had remained seated on his throne, unmoving and staring ahead, face inscrutable. Now Ansgard Periwinkle straightened up and walked towards him, fixing him with a calculating stare.

“When did you join forces with Tom Riddle, Professor Snape?” The tone of Periwinkle’s voice was severe, all the more so for its tin-can quality.

Severus Snape, however, replied in his silkiest tones. “In 1977, right after I had finished school.” No emotion was discernible from his words.

“Wasted no time, eh? – And how long did your affiliation with the Death Eaters last?”

“Until September 1981, approximately.” Even now, having finally made it to the courtroom, Elena had to concentrate hard in order to hear him.

“Is that true?” Periwinkle feigned incredulity. “Because, Professor, I have testimony from a lot of people – ex Death Eaters included – who would swear to the fact that even after that, there could not have been a more loyal Death Eater than you!”

“That is hardly surprising”, Snape replied evenly, but with a hint of sarcasm, “since that was the role I had to play, acting as a spy and double-agent. In effect, from September 1981 onwards, I was a member of the Order of the Phoenix.”

“Quite a switch, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know what you mean to say by that.”

In spite of the oppressive heat in the courtroom, Elena felt a chill, brought on by the note of impatience in Snape’s voice. If Periwinkle was able to rattle him already, where was this inquiry going to lead?

“I mean to say that the role of a double-agent is a very uncertain position. – Dumbledore and his people thought you were with them. Riddle and his bunch of criminals thought that you were firmly on their side. Who would really have known?”

“The uncertainty you are referring to was exactly the point of what I did.”

“But who was ever certain of you, Professor?”

“I was.” Snape spat out the words and impetuously raised his chin.

Periwinkle issued a derisive snort. “Hardy convincing, you vouching for your own loyalty.”

“Dumbledore vouched for it.” Snape twitched angrily.

“A pity he is dead …”

A witch stood up from the bench of inquirers. Although her face was still quite young, her hair was snow-white which made it hard to guess how old she really was. Her eyes were large, dark and intelligent.

“May I ask my esteemed colleague to bear in mind that Albus Dumbledore has, in various proceedings before the Wizengamot, confirmed the respondent’s affiliation with the Order of the Phoenix. He certainly believed in Professor Snape’s loyalty.” Her voice was clear and pleasant. “Also I don’t see the relevance of this line of questioning for the present proceedings which were arranged in order to gain clarity on issues concerning Mr Leshnikov and on past matters that haven’t been sufficiently cleared up to this date. That being so, we must accept what Professor Snape is going to tell us here today. It is not our job to prove him wrong.”

She looked pointedly first at Periwinkle, then at the witch chairing the proceedings before she sat down. The Chief Warlock gave a languid nod and Periwinkle looked sour, ordered the pile of papers in his hands and cleared his throat.

“Who was that?” Elena whispered in Lupin’s ear. “The white-haired witch?”

Remus looked up startled, then remembered her invisible presence. “Her name is Nell Nolan. I don’t know her personally, she hasn’t been with the Wizengamot very long. However, from what I heard she is very gifted.”

“I don’t understand how all this works”, Elena said in as low a voice as she could manage, “it _does_ look awfully like a trial.”

“Much of the proceedings is inspired by the olden days”, Lupin explained, looking doggedly ahead so as not to alert anyone to the fact that he was talking to someone sitting next to him and hiding under an Invisibility Cloak, “when we still had Wizard Councils. When anything came up – not necessarily a crime, but any kind of bother really – the elders of the wizarding community would meet and try to sort it out in what was basically quite an informal gathering. This is why a simple hearing can sometimes have the aspects of a trial. It doesn’t depend so much on charges brought forward – which, I think, would be the basic prerequisite for a trial in the Muggle world – but more on the extent of, well, worry and unease the issue would cause to our world. – Ask Harry. He knows all about it.”

“But how does it work?” Elena asked, still puzzled.

“As you can witness right now. The ‘offending subject’ is invited and asked all sorts of questions that cause concern to his or her peers. One witch or wizard will act as a kind of prosecutor, while another will come to the subject’s defence, if appropriate. – As you have seen, that’s Nolan’s job.”

“So the reason they really called in Sev… I mean, the Professor … is not because they want to pin anything on him, but because they want to _control_ him?”

Remus answered only after a few seconds. “I guess you could put it like that. You see, I think a lot of people have started to realize that now Dumbledore and Voldemort are gone, Severus may well be _the_ most powerful wizard in the country. It’s not surprising they want to keep track of him. We all know very well what happens when a wizard becomes _too_ mighty.”

Elena digested Lupin’s words. She had never really thought of this. Of course, Severus Snape seemed awfully powerful to her – the man was able to fly without a broom! – but so did any other witch and wizard she had met in the past few months. Now it suddenly made sense that the wizarding world would be wary about Snape’s movements and what he was up to, particularly after the experiences of the last decades. However, it didn’t make her any more sympathetic to the event she was now witnessing.

Ansgard Periwinkle had taken up his thread again. “Let’s talk about Albus Dumbledore some more, Professor Snape.”

Snape’s body stirred very slightly and Elena sensed that he was bracing himself. He lifted his chin a bit while his eyes became narrow black slits in a very white face. Elena noticed that he had taken some pains with his appearance. His hair didn’t look quite as greasy as it usually did, and instead of robes – which she always called ‘priest frocks’ to wind him up – he wore a Victorian-looking suit with a rather well-cut coat and an elaborate necktie over a stiff white collar which effectively hid the scar on his neck, the one of the Horcrux snake.

“Quite the benefactor he was to you, Dumbledore, wasn’t he?”

Snape credited Periwinkle’s statement with no more than a curt nod.

“As a courtesy to the Wizengamot, Professor”, Periwinkle snarled menacingly, “would you please state your answers clearly and audibly?”

“Yesss.” It sounded like an indignant snake spitting.

Periwinkle fixed the younger wizard with stare. “Is it true that you killed Albus Dumbledore?”

There was a silence of two, three, four seconds. Then, another nod and another “Yes”.

Complete silence fell in the courtroom and Ansgard Periwinkle made a huge show of raising his eyebrows.

“So you admit that you are responsible for the death of the man who protected you for decades, one of the most gifted and powerful wizards our world has ever seen at that, and that you put him to death without hesitation?”

Elena bit her lip. When Periwinkle stated it like that, it made Snape look like a monster. Of course, she knew why Albus Dumbledore had been killed and most of those present in this gloomy amphitheatre today knew the story, as well, in the version rendered by Harry Potter which had been printed in all the wizarding tabloids. However, she sensed that the story would be told anew today, and much depended on the way Severus would render it. She prayed that he would not reply in one of his monosyllables again. – And in the next moment, he did just that.

“Yes.”

A murmur flared up from the ranks. Not a small number of people scoffed and the atmosphere was so thick one might have cut off a piece. Beside Elena, Remus sighed. Severus Snape, however, sat unmoving, an angry furrow above his nose.

Again, Nell Nolan stood up from the bench. “If my esteemed colleague allows …”, she said brightly, earning a sour look from Periwinke, before she addressed Snape. “Tell us, Professor, was it your idea to kill Albus Dumbledore?”

“No”, was the dead-pan answer.

“Whose idea was it then?”

“Dumbledore’s.”

Another wave of murmurs came from the ranks.

“Could you explain to us how that came to pass?”

Severus Snape sat up a little, cleared his throat. Then he proceeded to explain how, at the start of school year of 1996, Albus Dumbledore had appeared in his quarters one night, obviously in pain and with a badly marked hand which Snape had recognized immediately as the effect of a powerful dark curse. Seemingly without sympathy, he told the inquirers how the erstwhile Hogwarts headmaster had given in to the temptation of putting on the Gaunt ring and thus sealed his fate. “Dumbledore admitted that he had been foolish”, Snape explained, “and the only thing that I could do was to concoct a potion that would temporarily keep the curse from spreading.”

“Temporarily?” Nolan repeated.

“The curse could only be contained”, Snape confirmed, “not lifted. It would have killed him eventually.”

“How long, in your view, would that have taken?”

“A year, at most.”

“So Albus Dumbledore was going to die within the year”, Nell Nolan stated, looking up at the rows where the members of the Wizengamot sat. “And what kind of death would that have been, you think?”

“An agonizingly painful one.” Again, Snape looked as if he was not going to say any more, but Nell Nolan stared at him as if she was willing him to talk. And in fact, after a few seconds had passed, it appeared to dawn on Snape that the woman was on his side and he began to elaborate. “Dumbledore knew it. I guess that’s what gave him the idea.”

“What idea?”

“That I should kill him. It served his plans, too, for which he cared much more than for his own life.”

Nolan said nothing for a few moments to let the words sink in. “What plans?” she asked eventually.

“His plans for Harry Potter. Dumbledore revealed to me then that he knew that a Death Eater had been ordered by the Dark Lord to kill him. He was prepared to die, thought it necessary even to create the illusion for Voldemort that he would have Hogwarts under control.”

“Under control with you as a proxy, because in the event of Dumbledore’s death, you’d follow him as headmaster?”

“Yes.”

“Who was the Death Eater ordered to kill Albus Dumbledore?”

Snape didn’t reply to that, just twitched.

“You must tell the truth in front of the Wizengamot, Professor Snape”, Nolan reminded him kindly.

Snape gave another uncomfortable twitch before he spoke. “Draco Malfoy”, he said eventually and with a little sigh. Nolan opened her mouth to ask another question, but Snape broke in unexpectedly. “By that time a student of only sixteen years, commissioned with a task that was way above his head.”

Ansgard Periwinkle jumped in. “Draco Malfoy”, he snarled, “the son of Lucius Malfoy, a known Death Eater and a good friend of yours, am I right?”

Snape nodded and volunteered some more. “Most of all, Draco Malfoy was a student of my House and thus under my protection.”

“Do I understand you correctly”, Nolan took over again, “that Professor Dumbledore sympathized with the weight put upon Mr Malfoy’s shoulders?”

“Yes”, Snape inclined his head. “That’s what gave him the idea that in the event that Draco Malfoy failed, I must finish the job.”

“Which you readily did”, snapped Periwinkle.

“Not readily, no.” Snape shook his head ever so slightly.

“You didn’t like it?” asked Nolan. It was a naïve question – purposely naïve, perhaps – and it made Snape scoff.

“Of course I didn’t.”

“Did you try to get out of it?”

Now Periwinkle scoffed – suggesting that Snape had done no such thing – and this time, the wizard in the respondent’s chair showed a visible reaction, sat upright and an angry frown appeared on his forehead.

“I tried to dissuade Dumbledore many times”, he said, and suddenly his silky voice carried – as it always did when he wanted it – to the last corner of Courtroom Ten. “I told him he took too much for granted. I questioned him on the effects such a deed would have on my soul. I called him stubborn. Arrogant. Impetuous. – He would not listen.”

“Why didn’t you just walk away?” Nolan asked quietly.

“I couldn’t. I had given Dumbledore my word.”

Nolan’s eyes became wide. “Your word, Professor?”

Severus Snape fidgeted on his chair. Elena saw him staring at his lap where his white long fingers rested. “I had promised Albus Dumbledore that I would do whatever it took – even if it was my own life and well-being – to ensure Harry Potter’s victory over the Dark Lord. It was only for this promise that Dumbledore had taken me in. Accepted me as a member of the Order. Let me stay on at Hogwarts as a Potions Master. – I could not go back on that promise, however much I would have liked to.”

“And that’s why you agreed to kill him.”

“Yes. I had no other choice.”

Nell Nolan nodded, smiled, but said no more before she sat down again.

“Nolan’s doing a good job”, Remus Lupin whispered to Elena. “See how she’s trying to make Severus talk?”

“Periwinkle’s not all that bad, either”, Elena murmured darkly.

“He’s waited for this day for decades. He won’t let the opportunity slip so easily …”

In the row in front of them, a middle-aged red-haired witch turned around. “Who are you talking to, Remus?”

Lupin shushed her and leant forward, whispering a few words, upon which the woman smiled self-consciously. “Oh! Hello, dear …”

“This is Molly Weasley”, Remus explained to Elena. “She used to be the rock of the Order of the Phoenix …”

“Get off it, Remus …” the witch murmured and her cheeks approximated the colour of her hair. Beside her, a girl turned around that Elena recognized as Ginny Weasley. “Hi Ellie”, she said with a mischievous grin and nodded at a point where she assumed Elena to sit, “good to … well, _not_ see you.”

“Turn back”, Remus said to her, “before someone notices …” Beside him, an elderly wizard was giving him dirty looks, then turned to his neighbour on the other side and hissed something.

Down in the platform, the inquiry took its course.

“So we are to believe, Professor Snape”, Periwinkle took up his interrogation again, “that you killed Albus Dumbledore as the result of a death pact? Not the least bit of pleasure for you in that, eh?”

Snape looked up as if stung and opened his mouth, but Nell Nolan shot out of her seat. “What is my esteemed colleague trying to suggest?” she asked. “This is a court of magical law, not a parade of wild presumptions.”

The grey-haired witch in her pulpit gave Periwinkle a stern eye before turning to Snape. “You need not answer that question”, she said matter-of-factly, and Snape shut his mouth although it was obvious that he would have liked to give Periwinkle a piece of his mind. “Mr Periwinkle”, the chairing witch went on, “I must implore you to stick to the facts, not get lost in emotional speculation.”

Periwinkle bowed his head stiffly, but his face was witness of his indignation.

“Who’s the judge?” whispered Elena.

“Eve Fawley”, said Remus. “The Fawley family belong to the Sacred Twenty-Eight, they’re as pure-blood as you can get. Beyond reproach, though.”

Elena had no idea what the ‘Sacred Twenty-Eight’ were, but this was not the time to ask. She watched Periwinkle who had returned to the bench, picking up another pile of papers – he appeared obsessed with papers, holding on to them as if to a straw – which was handed to him by a white-bearded wizard who’d been taking the notes.

“That’s Aeneas Crowley, by the way”, Remus informed Elena. “Did I tell you about him?” Since he could not see Elena shake her head, he went on. “He’s very wealthy and has recently gained a lot of influence in the wizarding world. He’s all set to become a very prominent figure. I’ve spoken to him a few weeks ago, and Severus is very lucky that for now Crowley is only allowed to take the minutes …”

“Quiet now, man!” the wizard sitting on Remus’ other side snarled. “Who are you talking to, anyway?”

“Who would I be talking to?” Remus shot back irritably. “Don’t you know Hermione Granger of the Golden Trio?”

Hermione who’d overheard the words leant forward and gave a dazzling smile to the complaining wizard. Beside him, a thick-set man with red-blond hair was looking suspicious. Elena realized that she had met him before. Marlin, if she wasn’t quite mistaken, the one who had referred to Severus Snape as a _‘murderin’ bastard’_ …

Lupin shrugged and turned his attention to the events on the platform, and so did Elena. Ansgard Periwinkle was just clearing his throat, preparing for a new attack.

“Professor Snape”, he started and tried a false smile, “my esteemed colleagues have made it clear that they do not wish to wallow too much in the past.” He shot Nolan a dirty look. “However, I cannot quite agree. After all, in past years and decades even, you have never spoken out publicly, neither on your past affiliations, nor on the events leading up to the recent victory. – Which, by the way, brings me to a most pressing question: why, after the victory and your _mysterious survival_ ”, from the way he spoke the words, they sounded fishy, “have you never come forward to talk to the authorities?”

But Snape was prepared for this. He turned a stony face on Periwinkle. “The Dark Lord had set his snake on me, to bite and kill me. It almost succeeded, for quite a while I was closer to death than to life. So you may understand that when I woke up, I was in a state of shock, with no other wish than to leave the scene of my … demise. I was badly injured, too. Confused, not quite sure whether I had really woken up or was just … hallucinating. I have to admit that helping the authorities was at that point the least thing on my mind.”

“And a few days after that?” Periwinkle snapped. “Surely you came out of your … _confusion_ after a while?”

“Yes, but I was still badly injured. It took me days, weeks even, to regain my strength.”

“You look well enough now”, Periwinkle observed, tilting his head sarcastically. “Are you sure that snake really got you as badly as you claim? Maybe your survival wasn’t all that mysterious?”

“What’s the fucking bastard suggesting?” Elena exploded in a hiss.

“Sssshhh!” Hermione, Remus and Harry turned on her all at once and there were a few raised eyebrows from adjacent seats.

However, in that moment something happened that caught the attention of everyone in the courtroom. Snape who had so far hardly moved, sitting in his seat like a statue, suddenly reached up angrily and tore at his necktie. Buttons popped, the starched white shirt rustled, and in the next moment, Snape had bared his neck and tilting his head to one side presented the large bite scar to the bench. There was a roar as spectators inhaled sharply. The scar looked horrible, an angry swollen red, the traces of huge snake fangs clearly visible, and there were spots of blood on the shirt’s collar. The members of the bench gazed at Snape’s neck with fascinated concentration, and even Periwinkle wrinkled his nose at the sight. After a few seconds, Snape began to calmly button up his shirt again and redid the necktie rather sloppily. His face was once more a cold mask as he settled back in his seat, again very still. The atmosphere in the courtroom was chilly, as well.

“Clever move”, Hermione whispered, “if they don’t believe him now …”

“Thank you for the dramatic demonstration, Professor.” Ansgard Periwinkle had regained. “Can you provide any explanation as to why you survived an attack like this?”

“No.”

Periwinkle scoffed. “That’s hard to believe, if I may say so! A wizard of your status and experience – particularly where the dark arts are concerned – must certainly have an idea why he survived the bite of a snake carrying the fragmented soul of one of the darkest wizards known in our time?”

Severus Snape remained silent for a few moments. “I can only guess”, he ventured after a while, and it was with a dejected sigh, “that it had something to do with the beheading of the snake with the sword of Gryffindor at some point. My theory is that at the moment that happened, the snake lost its magical powers and at the same time, all its recent actions were annihilated. I may have been as good as dead by then, but since the snake venom lost its effect after the beast was killed, it may have been just enough for me to scrape by.” He made a noncommittal gesture, emphasizing that it was only a theory.

“Whoa!” Ron Weasley breathed. “What’s Neville going to say when he hears this?!”

Hermione grinned, then turned slightly in her seat towards Elena. “Neville Longbottom and Snape … they didn’t get on very well when we were at school.”

“Not get on very well?” Ron scoffed and cast a dirty look in the direction where he supposed Elena was sitting. “Neville was Snape’s favourite whipping boy!”

Elena said nothing. The last thing she needed right now were stories on Snape, the bully. She’d heard way too many of these already, and at the moment she was still trying hard to digest what she had just seen, Severus Snape of all people baring his neck to the full Wizengamot assembly _and_ to the observing public. However, Ron was obviously on a rampage. “I’m pretty sure the greasy git would never stoop so low to say a ‘Thank you’ or anything like that”, he hissed.

“Be quiet, Ron!” Hermione stared worried at the other end of their row where the red-blond wizard called Marlin had gotten to his feet to squeeze by towards one of the aisles.

“You know, it’s really getting on my nerves like … big time”, Ron ranted on, “all this romantic drabble about Snape because he was in love with Harry’s mom! Suddenly, nobody seems to remember what a horrible person he really is anymore.”

Now that was too much. Elena fixed the red-haired young wizard with an angry stare that he – alas – was not able to see. “Nobody’s giving _him_ a break, either!” she hissed.

However, it was easy for Ron to ignore her since he did not see her, and he merely shrugged.

“Get off it, all of you!” Remus commanded in a nervous whisper. “Eusebius Marlin’s up to something …”

Elena turned around nervously, her glance sweeping over the rise of rows behind her. She saw the thick-set wizard – Eusebius Marlin – talking to an orderly and pointing at the row in which they were all seated. The orderly made a suspicious face and followed Marlin down the steps of the aisle.

“Oh, no!” she moaned.

The orderly squeezed into their row and stopped in front of Remus Lupin.

“Sorry, sir”, he said in a constricted voice, “I have just been alerted to the fact that an unauthorized person might have been brought to this courtroom.”

“Really?” Lupin raised his eyebrows in a show of humorous innocence. “Can you see anyone?”

“No, sir, I can’t”, replied the orderly and sarcasm was dripping from his voice, “but that’s exactly the point of an Invisibility Cloak, isn’t it?” He pointed his finger at the telling space between Remus and Hermione. Under the cloak, Elena latter felt her face becoming hot.

“Why would anyone take an Invisibility Cloak to a Wizengamot hearing?” Lupin asked reasonably. Sitting on Ron Weasley’s other side, Harry Potter stared ahead as if oblivious to the exchange.

“Please”, the orderly spoke to the seemingly empty seat, “show yourself. Or I will have to take measures.”

“Don’t”, Remus hissed under his breath.

“Leave it. It’s no use.” With a sigh, Elena got up and let the Invisibility Cloak glide from her shoulders. There were slight noises of surprise from all around. She folded up the cloak leisurely, then threw the bundle towards Harry. “Nice idea”, she mouthed to him.

“Ma’am, I have to ask you to leave this courtroom”, the orderly said stiffly. Behind him stood Eusebius Marlin, appraising Elena from head to toe in a knowing manner that was nothing short of intrusive.

Harry piped up now. “She came in with me”, he whispered agitatedly. “It was my idea, so won’t you make an exception?”

“The wizarding world cannot forever make exceptions for The Boy Who Lived”, Marlin sneered from behind the orderly’s broad shoulders.

“It’s alright, I’m coming”, Elena said hastily, not wishing to cause any troubles to her acquaintances, and made to squeeze out of the tightly packed row, accompanied by the orderly.

“Quiet, please!” roared the voice of the Chief Warlock, Eve Fawley. “This is an official session of the Wizengamot, and anyone who will not comply with common manners will be removed from this courtroom!”

Obviously, the process of detecting Elena under her cloak had caused quite a flurry and many pairs of eyes were on them now, surprised and malicious whispers had ensued. Elena followed the orderly with a stiff back. As she left the row, she looked over her shoulder, down onto the platform. Severus, too, had turned in his seat and seemed to peer up to the rows to find out what was going on there. Elena willed him to look up, to notice her, but it was futile as from the place where he was seated the rows of spectators were probably nothing but a squirming darkness.

Only then did she realize that he was really staring in a completely different direction. In fact, his black eyes were firmly glued to a point somewhere among the lower rows. His face had blanched and there was a look of disbelief on it. What or who was he looking at? Had he recognized someone?

“Ma’am, please.” The orderly tugged at her sleeve.

Elena murmured assent and let herself be ushered out of the courtroom. She felt a little like a criminal while this was happening. Witches and wizards stared at her, trying to guess at who she was and why she had crashed the event. Elena caught the eye of a witch about her age, sitting in a seat close to the aisle and giving her a commiserating look as well as a brief smile. Then the winged doors opened and she was gently pushed out onto the corridor again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated December 2016


	7. With A Little Help

**With A Little Help**

 

Elena sat down on one of the steps leading upwards from the circular corridor to the Ministry’s higher levels, elbows on her knees and chin in hand, and let out a dejected sigh. The orderly who had accompanied her outside gave her a strict eye, but she ignored it. Witches and wizards were still hanging about, waiting for the end of the hearing or for any news to leak out; however, their number had become considerably fewer in the meantime.

With her wand, Elena cast a _Horavisibilata_ on the stone floor – a neat little spell she had recently learnt from a young Hogwarts student and that showed the time on a bluish-gleaming sun clock. An hour had passed since the beginning of the proceedings. Surely, it wouldn’t take too long now? But she wasn’t at all certain. What Severus had surmised when he had visited her that night at St. Mungo’s had become true: this hearing hadn’t been so much about the Leshnikov affair, but about his – Snape’s – past. His affiliation with the Death Eaters. The murder of Albus Dumbledore. – For the first time, Elena wondered in earnest whether there would be consequences, whether he would have to face more legal troubles. It was obvious to her that not a small number of people shared Periwinkle’s attitude and saw Severus as not much more than a criminal. And even those who held on to the hero aspect might wish to keep an eye on him who was by now – as Remus had put it – perhaps _the_ most powerful wizard in the country.

It wasn’t that she didn’t understand the suspicions out there against him. Had she not known the man personally and merely heard about his deeds, she might have wondered whether such a person could ever truly be reformed. In a way, she even saw how Snape had earned the distrust of the wizarding community, he, who’s true allegiances had never been clear until the last moment and who had bullied students with his foul mood and raging temper for years.

Sitting on the cold hard steps, she asked herself why she trusted Severus Snape. Everything she knew about him was light and dark at approximately equal measures. Maybe she should try and find another perspective? – But no. The voice coming from within her was very firm. She knew he had a good heart. How else could he have done what he’d done – for Harry, whom he didn’t even like, and most of all for Harry’s mother (as always, remembering that gave her a little sting)? How else could he have been as tender with her as he had been that night in the lighthouse, touching her as if she was precious, kissing her ever so lightly, loving her ever so passionately … Suddenly, she remembered how he had presented that scar during proceedings, had bared his neck for everyone to see – it had been quite an uncharacteristic act for someone as touchy about personal matters as Snape, and was evidence of the pressure he’d been under, not to mention hurt pride – and she remembered, again, how she had touched and kissed his scar that night, how her tenderness had made him tremble. She felt her cheeks starting to burn and covered her face in her cool hands.

“Excuse me?”

Elena looked up. “Yes?”

In front of her stood a young witch of about her age wearing a pointed hat and a winning smile. Elena remembered that she had seen her before, when she’d been led out of the courtroom and the woman had looked at her sympathetically. She had a pretty heart-shaped face, large dark-brown eyes and a mane of lustrous dark-brown hair.

“You must be Elena.”

Elena got up from the steps. “Have we met?” she asked, a little confused.

“No”, the girl said with a hasty shake of her head. “But I know who you are because I’m a friend of Eddie Hincks.”

She turned a little and pointed out Eddie who was patrolling the corridor in front of his doors and did his best to ignore the two young witches.

“Oh”, said Elena, suddenly reserved.

The girl waved her hand. “Never mind Eddie”, she said. “That’s just how I know …” She broke off, her smile a little uncertain now. “I saw how they threw you out of the courtroom. I’m sorry about that.”

“I wasn’t on the bloody list”, Elena murmured.

“Yeah”, the girl sounded sympathetic. “Had some troubles, too, getting my name down on it. My dad did it for me, he has … connections.”

“Good for you”, Elena said sarcastically, “are you enjoying it so far?”

The girl examined her carefully. “Look”, she said with another quick glance over her shoulder, “I think you should really be in there. I heard most of it, anyway.”

“What do you mean?” Elena was taken aback.

“I’m giving you my seat”, the young witch announced firmly. “It’s five rows down from the top, right by the aisle. You can have it.”

“Are you sure?” Elena’s eyes became wide. “But they’d notice!”

The girl shook her head. Again, she checked the surroundings, but when she saw that no one was watching she slipped out of her coat and pulled the pointed hat off her head. “Take this”, she said, offering the coat, “and the hat, and my handbag. No one will know the difference.”

Elena saw what she meant. They both had about the same height – not very much of it – and build, and also similar hair, even if Elena’s was a bit lighter. They both wore high-heeled shoes to accentuate long shapely legs. A wicked grin spread on Elena’s face as she took off her salt-and-pepper coat and swapped it for the girl’s beige one. “What’s your name?” she asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

“Cassie Cleary”, the girl answered. “It’s really Cassandra, but no one calls me that.” She shot Elena a warning glance as if to say ‘never _ever_ call me that!’

“Alright, Cassie”, Elena beheld the other witch more shyly than was usual for her – there was something about her which she liked very much, but she couldn’t quite tell whether this was merely because of the unexpected offer. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Don’t. I’m glad I can help.” Cassie Cleary came closer to Elena and gently adjusted the pointed hat. “Just walk up to that door now – not the one Eddie’s guarding, mind you – and act as if you had every right to be here. The guys sitting next to me in there don’t know me, so they won’t notice. Don’t worry, it will be fine.”

“Will you wait here? Because of your coat …”

“I will. And then we can have tea.” Determinedly, she hooked her handbag to Elena’s arm and gave her a radiant smile. Then she shoved her firmly in the direction of the winged door. “Courage now! You’re a proud witch from Ireland and a Cleary at that. Nothing scares you!” She winked.

Elena was lost for words. Inside her, excitement threatened to bubble over. She could do nothing but beam at Cassie Cleary. “Um … see you later then …” she stuttered.

Cassie nodded and, wrapping herself in Elena’s coat, sat down on the stone steps with a happy grin.

 

The disguise worked fantastically. The Ministry official guarding the door only gave her a superficial glance and then opened it a crack, wide enough for Elena to slip through. With determined strides, she went down the steps of the aisle, counted the rows – three, four, five – and there was the empty seat right in front of her. She looked around quickly, but all eyes were down on the platform now, nobody was interested in a girl who’d just come back from the bathroom. Her heart beat nervously as she slipped into the seat and focussed on what was going on.

To her chagrin, she found that Periwinkle was still in full swing. Of the five members of the bench, he did most of the talking, in fact he was having a field day, not much interrupted by the presiding witch who followed the proceedings with an air of serene boredom. “As I said before”, Periwinkle was snarling, “many of my esteemed colleagues would prefer to let the past rest. Leave all the old worries behind. I disagree on that point. I believe that there can be no future without proper processing of the past.” He had started to pace in front of the chair on which Severus Snape still sat, once more immovable. However, even from her seat which was quite at the back of the courtroom Elena could see him clenching his fists in his lap although his face was as stony as that of a marble statue, and she thought she could detect beads of sweat on his forehead, but maybe she was just imagining it because she could read his inner strain from the way he held himself.

“During the last ten minutes, Professor, you have regaled us with stories on the involvement of some of your former associates”, at the word ‘regaled’, a little jolt went through Snape and his fingers cramped even more, “mostly regarding persons who have already met their demise and can thus not refute your testimony.”

‘Cunning old bastard’, Elena thought. ‘He’s suggesting that Severus only blames the dead and gives no information on the living.’

“Hence, I would like to direct the Wizengamot’s attention back to yourself.” There was a predatory smile on Periwinkle’s thin lips. “There is one incident specifically on which I would like to hear what you have to say, and I’m particularly curious on your own role in the affair. – I am talking, of course, about the _McKinnon assassination_.”

The words dropped into the courtroom like so many buckets of stone. Again, there were sharp inhales, and it was obvious to Elena that everyone knew what Periwinkle was referring to. Even she had heard about it, and from Severus himself. She remembered it very clearly. That night in the lighthouse when they had both thought that they were going to die. His sudden urge to tell her about things and to issue some kind of confession. As a result, she knew that this was very dangerous ground.

Elena almost felt relief when she saw Nell Nolan get up from her seat at the bench.

“Madam Chief Warlock”, she said in her clear, even voice, “I am well aware – as are probably most of us – what a shattering event the murder of the McKinnon family was to the wizarding community. There is hardly anyone of us who hasn’t heard or wept about it. I specifically sympathize with my esteemed colleague who was perhaps closer to the McKinnons than anyone of us …” Her voice trailed off and she looked at Periwinkle in a way that was at the same time unsmiling and genuine before she took up her thread again. “However, past investigations have shown that the extent of what can be learnt about that night are limited. It is almost certain by now that Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange committed most of the heinous crimes carried out on the night of the McKinnon assassination, and this is in line with other deeds of these individuals that have come to light since then, such as the torture of Alice and Frank Longbottom. I would also like to remind the Wizengamot that this event has occurred more than seventeen years ago, and although I am all for processing the past, I do question the rationale of going back that far. Certainly, very heinous crimes have occurred in the far more recent past on which the respondent might be able to shed light.”

Even before Nolan had finished, Periwinkle’s jaws started to grind. He started spitting as soon as she made to sit down. “So if I understand my _esteemed colleague_ correctly, we are to relinquish thoroughness in favour of the contemporary? In my mind, that equals repression! The McKinnon assassination was one of the most gruesome incidents known to the wizarding world, and although I would not by all means want to put it over recent brutalities, I think it my duty to remind the Wizengamot of the family that was slaughtered, the children that were tortured, the souls that were put through unspeakable agony in order to squeeze out every last ounce of pain before they were finally allowed to die … Letting a crime like that rest by not utilizing any means available to clear up what happened would be spitting in the faces of those children and I, at least, am not prepared to bear it!”

During those last words, Periwinkle had thrust out his chest and raised his chin proudly. The problem was – he didn’t seem at all ridiculous. In fact, Elena suddenly felt herself sympathizing with the man. She saw that he meant what he said, that the assassination of the McKinnons had hit him in his core and during all those years he had never been able to put the shock to rest. It had defined him, had become the purpose of his life. It was what gave him a feeling of righteousness, and if truth be told, this feeling was entirely conceivable.

On the pulpit, the Chief Warlock Eve Fawley moved lazily, then nodded at Periwinkle. “Please proceed”, she said with a small sigh.

Periwinkle tried hard to suppress the triumph that made the corners of his mouth quirk, and he turned on his heel towards Snape. The predatory gleam was back in his eyes. In her seat, Elena braced herself as if it was she who was on the brink of being grilled, and not Severus.

Periwinkle paused in front of Snape’s seat, collected himself – Elena guessed that he chiefly did it for the effect – and then dealt out his question with the aggressiveness of a whiplash. “I’m sure you remember the McKinnon assassination, Professor Snape?”

Severus had followed the exchange between Periwinkle and Nolan with wary eyes, had remained unmovable on his chair, and for a few long seconds – during which the entire courtroom waited with baited breath – he did not react at all. Then he gave a quick nod.

“I didn’t quite hear you there”, snarled Periwinkle.

“Yes. I remember it”, coughed Snape, and the angry line appeared once more above the bridge of his nose.

“Good. – I have various testimonies here”, Periwinkle shook the stack of papers in his hand – these were his stronghold, his backbone, “that place you at the scene on the fateful night. Is this true?”

A few seconds passed and again, Snape sat very still. “Yes”, he acknowledged finally.

Periwinkle looked smug. “So you are aware what happened that night? What happened to the members of the McKinnon family? How they were _wiped out_ , including the children?”

Again, a monosyllabic “Yes”. Elena bit her lip and her hands started to tremble.

“Anything to say about that?” Periwinkle’s voice was a rusty bark.

Snape inhaled. “The Dark Lord had ordered us to kill the McKinnon family. No one was to be left alive. If anyone of us had not complied with that command, it would have meant sure death, and probably torture prior to that.”

“So better torture and kill the McKinnons, eh?”

Snape jerked his head. “I did not condone the manner in which it was done!” he said, his voice an indignant hiss.

“You didn’t?” Periwinkle opened his eyes in disbelief. “But you didn’t do anything to stop it, either?”

“I couldn’t. The Dark Lord had ordered me to search the house. To find documents giving valuable information on the plans of the Order.”

“You want us to believe you had no part in the massacre?”

Snape looked up, fixed Periwinkle with a stare. However, the anger had gone from his face. His cheeks had blanched once more and he looked pasty, unhealthy. Seconds passed. Finally, with an uncomfortable twitch, Severus Snape spoke.

“I killed Lawrence McKinnon.”

Suddenly, the courtroom was so silent one could have heard a pin fall onto the stone floor. The words echoed and only very slowly a scandalized murmur rose up from the ranks. Elena’s fingernails dug into the flesh of her palms. ‘No, Sev, why did you say that?’ she thought frantically, but of course she knew. She had felt it in the night in the lighthouse, that he wanted to come clean, own up to his past mistakes. He wanted to be accepted for what he was, for the hero in him just as well as for the villain. Probably no one in Courtroom Ten other than she saw it, but it was the most poignant sign of his reform.

Periwinkle’s eyes, however, glittered with a strange delight. “You did?” he hissed.

“He stood in my way when I tried to proceed to the first floor”, Snape explained coldly. “We fought. I won.”

The murmur increased. Suddenly, there was a holler from one of the backseats. _“Offed him with an Avada Kedavra, as you did with Dumbledore, right??”_

While dozens of voices muttered assent, Snape twitched and half-turned in his seat.

“Silence!” Eve Fawley’s voice rang through the courtroom, shrill and authoritative at the same time.

“I did _not_ use an Unforgivable Curse!” Snape thundered. “It is true I was a Death Eater. It is true I endorsed their world view for a while. But I _never_ indulged in undue brutality. I found no pleasure in violence!”

Nell Nolan got up suddenly, but Snape ploughed on, not giving her half a chance.

“As for Lawrence McKinnon – and if you absolutely have to know – I used a strong Stunning spell on him. It blast him backwards into the wall and broke his neck. He was dead instantly.”

Elena closed her eyes. Around her, the murmurs swelled, developing into heated comments. When she looked again, she saw that people around her appeared either glum or scandalized. From where she was sitting, she could see Remus Lupin in his seat, hand at his mouth, slowly shaking his head from side to side.

When Periwinkle spoke again, his voice quavered with excitement. “So you’re admitting to the murder of Lawrence McKinnon?”

“Yesss”, hissed Snape angrily. “You can put me in jail for that if you want to. But you should bear in mind that he was probably the only one in the family that had a comparatively painless death.”

A new wave of shocked comments abounded. A female voice behind Elena said “The _cheek_!”

“Do you want to make us believe, Professor, that what you did was a noble thing?”

“War is not noble”, Snape replied coldly. “It does, however, put people in a position where it’s either one’s own life or that of one’s momentary opponent. That is not a pretty truth, but a truth, I daresay, that everyone in this room has experienced in the past years. When it’s about life and death, there is no leeway for nobleness.”

The murmurs died down a little, making place for silence again, but it was difficult to tell whether it was thoughtful or simply stunned.

“Can anyone corroborate what you are telling us here?” Periwinkle asked. “That you had no part in the massacre?”

Again, Snape did not reply for a few seconds. “Yes”, he said finally. “Lucius Malfoy. He was with me at all times, looking for the documents.”

Ansgard Periwinkle nodded at the white-bearded wizard at the bench, Aeneas Crowley, who dutifully took some notes. “We are certainly going to question Mr Malfoy about this”, he said to Snape with a note of malice in his voice.

Elena watched Snape looking down at his fidgeting hands.

“I also ask the Wizengamot to take due notice of the respondent’s admission of guilt regarding the murder of Lawrence McKinnon, for further perusal. At least, that’s one issue finally cleared up.” There was another gleam of triumph in Periwinkle’s eyes. “I have no further questions at the moment.”

And with that he sat down, looking like the proverbial cat who’d ate the canary while his colleagues took notes and conversed in hushed voices.

Finally, Nell Nolan got up again. Slowly, she advanced a few steps towards the chair where Snape sat and then looked up at him with wide eyes. “You said you didn’t condone the McKinnon massacre, Professor Snape?”

He stared at her critically, then shook his head.

“Tell us how you felt about what was done that night.” Nolan’s voice was gentle, almost persuasive.

“I thought it unnecessary”, Snape murmured.

Elena groaned. The guy in the seat next to her gave her a dirty look.

“Unnecessary?” Nolan repeated. “Is that all?”

Severus shifted on his seat. “It was my decision to join the Death Eaters”, he explained finally. “I had to live with whatever it entailed.”

Nell Nolan smiled. “Meaning that you wouldn’t go into self pity if anything happened that wasn’t to your liking?”

“Now you’re putting words in his mouth!” Periwinkle shouted from the bench. The Chief Warlock, Madam Fawley, made a cautioning face at the white-haired witch.

“I’m merely trying to assess Professor Snape’s emotional state at the time”, Nolan argued and looked back at Snape. Her face was open, everything about her said ‘Come on, talk to me.’ Another jolt went through Snape as he straightened his shoulders. “Also, I would like to know whether the McKinnon assassination did anything to change your … attitude?”

Again, Snape fidgeted. “I already said I didn’t condone it”, he said dully.

Elena could see that Nell Nolan inhaled deeply. Maybe she sighed. “The McKinnon assassination took place in July of 1981. You told us before that you switched allegiance in September of the same year. – Did the night at the McKinnon’s contribute in any way to that decision?”

“Relevance!” snarled Periwinkle, but Nolan quickly held up her hand to Eve Fawley.

“Considering that Professor Snape went from Death Eater to Order of the Phoenix member quite suddenly, I think it is very relevant”, she argued, again in her clearest voice, and when Fawley gave another languid nod, she went on. “Well, Professor?”

Once more, Snape didn’t answer for a few seconds. When he finally spoke, his voice was hardly audible. “It made me … wonder. But it was not the reason.”

Nolan came closer. She didn’t take her eyes off him. “Then what was, Professor? What made you switch allegiance? I think the Wizengamot would very much like to know, and to hear it from _you_.”

Another irritable twitch. Suddenly, the colour began to mount in Snape’s cheeks and he looked away, could not meet Nolan’s eyes. She, however, refused to let him out of her sight, stared at him almost imploringly. On her seat, Elena felt the battle that was going on inside of him; she sensed that he really wanted to shout at Nolan, tell her that she already knew why and not to make him say it in front of this crowd, but to leave him alone at last.

When the words finally came, it was as if they were wrenched from his throat. “It was … the murder of Lily Evans … I mean, Lily _Potter_ …”

A complete hush descended upon Courtroom Ten. Everyone sat very still now, all pairs of eyes were on the wizard squirming in his seat and not daring to meet his questioner’s gaze.

“Lily Potter”, Nolan repeated for those who had not heard it because Snape’s voice had been so low. “You knew Lily Potter well?”

He nodded slowly. “We were friends. When we were kids.”

“Very touching”, Periwinkle broke in, “but maybe you should add that she wanted nothing to do with you anymore after you had made it clear that you were going to join Tom Riddle’s bunch of criminals! Or am I wrong?”

Snape looked up sharply and gazed coldly at Periwinkle. “No, you’re not. It’s true, she wanted nothing to do with me anymore. I never blamed her. In my mind, she was still my friend, even if I wasn’t hers.” He looked down. “She is to this day.”

Elena leant forward and hid the lower half of her face in her hands to conceal her inner torment. His acknowledgement was like a stab to her heart. ‘He still loves her’, she thought. But at the same time, she realized that this was a good move, him finally showing some emotion and so uncharacteristically letting others in on what was in his heart. Also, she sensed that this love he still carried inside him was the flicker of light that dispersed his darkness. Maybe the people gathered in the courtroom sensed it, too, for they had once more become completely silent.

“Did you know beforehand that Tom Riddle was planning to hunt down and kill the Potter family?” Nolan asked quietly.

Snape nodded ferociously. “Yes, I did. And I tried to change his mind. I pleaded, I got down on my knees …” He broke off, swallowed. “He would not listen. That was the point when I sought out Dumbledore.”

“To what purpose?”

“To beg him to keep her safe. And her family.”

“What did Dumbledore say?”

“He promised me that he would do everything in his power to protect the Potters. In exchange, he asked for my allegiance.”

“Which you gave him?”

Snape nodded. “I did.”

“To no avail, though.”

“No.” It was only one simple word, but it sounded forlorn, empty.

“When Dumbledore did not – could not – live up to his promise to keep the Potters safe”, Nolan continued slowly, “you could have walked away. You didn’t owe him anything anymore.”

Snape met her gaze, and there was some astonishment in it. “Maybe I didn’t owe him anymore”, he admitted, “but … there was Lily.”

“I see. So you promised to at least keep her son safe”, Nell Nolan said, “and to do everything in your power to achieve that aim.”

“Yes.”

Nolan said nothing for a while but let what had been spoken sink in. No one moved, even the journalists had momentarily stopped scribbling or halted their quills. Slowly, Nell Nolan walked back towards the bench, then turned.

“I met Lily Potter when I was a girl”, she said suddenly and brightly. “She was a very lovely person.”

Severus Snape looked at her, and what was at first a glare suddenly softened into a very intense gaze. He nodded.

“I also think you’ve done her proud”, Nolan said solemnly. “Surely she would agree.”

And with that simple statement, she went around the edge of the bench, found her seat and sat down without looking at Snape anymore. He, however, followed her with his eyes, and there was amazement in them. Elena could see him swallow, and then he slightly bowed his head, stared at is hands again – long, thin white fingers that had stopped fidgeting – and he seemed lost in thought, or in memory. Hesitantly, people started to move in their seats again. However, something had changed. Elena could feel it by the tingling of her skin.

With his admission and by finally showing some feelings, Severus Snape had – probably quite unwittingly – gained at least a quantum of respect in the assembled wizarding world. It was, maybe, for the first time in his life. All the same, Elena was not sure whether this would truly be the end of it all. Her intuition – always a faithful companion of hers and enhanced since she had started to study magic – told her that anything could happen. Such was the quality of the times they lived in.

 

 


	8. An Uneasy Reunion

**An Uneasy Reunion**

 

Severus Snape had fully expected to be arrested after the trial. Upon his admission of guilt concerning the death of Lawrence McKinnon, he had warily watched the shackles attached to his chair, waiting for them to wrap themselves around his wrists and pinning him down until the arrival of the Azkaban staff to take him away; it had not happened. Even when he was led out of Courtroom Ten after proceedings, he would not have been surprised if they had waited for him, processing him quickly and shipping him off. Nothing of the sort had happened. The only thing that had occurred was that he’d been cautioned to keep himself available for any questions the Ministry of Magical Law Enforcement might think up in the coming weeks and months. He had replied dryly that surely everyone in the wizarding world knew where to find a Hogwarts Professor. Upon which the snotty young official – they were all incredibly young these days, for lack of proper material – had informed him that these days there were sure ways of ascertaining someone’s whereabouts, so he should think twice about fooling the Ministry; otherwise, however, he was free to go.

Free to go. Not quite. From the small cloakroom where he’d been taken to, he could hear the shuffling feet of a herd of buffaloes overhead. There was no way he was going to walk out among the crowds, only to be hissed and hollered at, or – even worse – accosted by journalists. So he dawdled in the cloakroom, found himself a small bench and sat down between formal robes hanging on pegs, merging comfortably with the shadows of the dark corners. Members of the Wizengamot dashed in and out of the small space, swapping their robes and walking out briskly with an air of importance on their faces. He watched them, unmoving. Most of them didn’t notice him and if they did, they reacted a little shocked to see him perched there among the robes, and quickly looked away.

Nell Nolan was one of the few who saw him at all, and only after she had slipped out of her black robe and exchanged it for a bright blue one with trumpet sleeves and a wide pink collar. It made her look very different, more girlish in spite of the completely white hair.

“Hello there”, she said a little breathily when she saw his still figure. Her eyes were wide and of a dark ink blue. “Are you waiting for the crowds to disperse, Professor?”

He nodded and scrutinized her. Within himself he felt the urge to say something. Thank her, perhaps, because he saw now how her line of questioning had really done him a service although he was still a little rattled by what that woman had extracted from him. However, Thank-yous didn’t come easily to Severus Snape and eventually he reminded himself that the woman had only done her bloody job.

Anyway, Nell Nolan did not appear to expect gratefulness. She pointed to a door. “There’s a spiral staircase out there”, she said. “It will take you to a gallery above the courtroom. It is closed to the public. You can wait up there until everyone is gone.”

He got up immediately with an acknowledging twitch. In spite of himself, his eyes remained glued to her face and she returned the look with a little smile.

“You look familiar”, he remarked at last.

She smiled very slightly. “Yes. I was in my sixth year at Hogwarts when you started teaching there.”

Snape frowned. He prided himself on never forgetting a face that had appeared in his classroom, but he could not place her.

“My hair was dark blond then”, Nell Nolan said, pointing to her head.

Snape tried to imagine her as a blonde, but didn’t succeed, the snowy white of her hair was too dazzling. “What happened?” he asked in his lowest voice.

“My family and I were held prisoner by Death Eaters for three weeks. They killed my husband. That’s when it turned white.”

He stared at her, then looked down. Murmured something that sounded remotely like ‘I’m sorry’, but might also have been something else. Nell Nolan shrugged, although her smile was a little sad.

“Resilience is a wonderful thing”, she said, “but I’m sure you know that.”

With that, she hung her Wizengamot robe on a peg, nodded to him and left the cloakroom. Snape remained standing there for a while before finally starting to move and quietly gliding out by the door.

 

A little while later, he was standing on a curved gallery which followed the course of the circular corridor enclosing Courtroom Ten. It was a place to his liking, because from up here he was able to survey the crowds without being seen. There were still an awful lot of people about, standing in groups and discussing the hearing. He spotted a couple of familiar faces – Remus Lupin talking to Hermione Granger, Harry Potter holding hands and sweet-talking with a glowing Ginny Weasley, while Molly Weasley was ruffling her son Ron’s hair, no doubt telling him that he should get a fresh cut. Snape winced. So they had all been there to witness how he had bared not only his neck but his soul, as well, and how he’d been goaded into speaking about Lily. Splendid.

Severus gave the crowd another sour look-over, searching for a very specific face. He had first seen it during the hearing and although he didn’t really want to set eyes on it again, he couldn’t help looking. However, it was nowhere. Maybe the problem had solved itself before becoming a problem. Maybe old promises had been kept. But an uneasy feeling in his gut didn’t allow for too much optimism.

About to turn away from the gallery’s bannister, he suddenly spotted Elena. His heart did an awkward little jump. He had almost failed to recognize her because she wore a pointed hat, although she had once informed him that she would ‘rather bite the tip of her tongue off than wearing one of those blasted things’. Beside her stood Eddie Hincks, talking at her adamantly, but she didn’t pay much attention and stared pointedly over the young man’s shoulder. Snape wondered what the Hincks boy was telling her. Giddy Gryffindor stuff, probably. Once again, he couldn’t help noticing what a handsome couple they made and the realization gave him a sting. Old fears promptly raised their ugly heads, and now he did turn away and went on a slow and lonesome walk around the gallery. He tried hard to put the hearing out of his mind – there would be enough time to ponder it later, at home, with a glass of Fire Whiskey in his hand – and focussed instead on what he would do next. It was only past noon, the day still comparatively young. Maybe Elena would be up for a lesson tonight? In his mind, a plan formed how he might pick up where they had left before the night of the lighthouse. However, other thoughts interfered. It irked him, for instance, that she had been present during the hearing. That she had heard. Not only about Lawrence McKinnon, because he had already told her about the assassination, no matter how much he might have regretted it in the meantime; but about Lily.

He sighed inwardly and walked on, focussing on magical lessons again. The light on the gallery was dim and he wandered between pillars and below arches. When he had come full circle, the crowd in the corridor had thinned out considerably. Elena and Eddie Hincks were gone. Where to, he wondered, and had they gone together? Again, he commanded his mind to go in other directions.

Finally and after another full circle, he dared to creep down the stairs to the corridor. Only a small number of people were still about. House-elves swept up the marble floor. Severus kept his head down and steered towards the doors that would take him to the elevators, thus reaching the large entrance hall of the Ministry. There, business had taken up as usual. Ministry employees were walking back and forth with rolls of parchment in their hands, looking occupied. Snape was about to enter one of the crevices in the wall that were connected to the Floo network, when he heard the voice behind him; it was a voice he immediately recognized because its sound was etched into his soul.

“Severus.”

He didn’t even bother to turn around, but an angry scowl appeared on his face. “What, in Hecate’s name, are _you_ doing here?”

“Come on, Severus. That’s no way to speak to your mother.”

“And what, pray tell, would be the correct way of talking to you, considering that we have resolved to _never_ see each other again?”

Silence answered him and so he turned, in spite of himself. She was standing there with a look of feigned meekness on her face. Like him, she was all dressed in black and looked like a Greek widow in eternal mourning. Mourning for what, exactly? Her hair was still as pitch black as his – Princes didn’t grey until well into their seventies. As always, her face looked worn-out and sullen. And as always, the sight of her brought up a complicated mix of emotions which, with everything else on his plate right now, was just a little too much.

“I read about that hearing in the _Celtic Observer_ ”, she said. “What did you think? That I’d stay at home calmly performing household jinxes while they were putting my only son on trial?”

“It was a hearing, not a trial”, he reminded her. “And you’re no good at household jinxes.”

Eileen Snape shrugged. She was one of the few people he knew that were completely immune to his sarcasm and moods. “What was the purpose of the whole thing, anyway?” she asked in a plaintive voice. “They should be glad they had you around to do their dirty work. The entire proceedings were a scam!”

He couldn’t object to that, but had no intention of agreeing with his mother, either, so he said nothing. It gave her ample opportunity to rant on.

“Really, it was a disgrace, especially this man – what was his name? – and how hostile he was towards you!” She surveyed her son critically. “You really shouldn’t have given so much away.”

He was close to issuing a bored moan, but decided at the last moment that it would be too adolescent a reaction. Why did parental presence always do that, make you want to behave like a recalcitrant teenager? Because that was how they still saw you, he reasoned with himself. No use fulfilling her expectations. He forced himself to answer evenly. “I had to give away something. Things don’t look too good right now.”

Her features softened and her mouth curled a bit. “We have to take a look at that scar of yours, sweetheart”, she said after a while as if it was the most natural thing in the world, “as soon as we get home. Didn’t you try to concoct a potion for it? If you did, I’m afraid it was quite a sloppy job.”

Desperately, his inner eye watched on as something inside him snapped – already. “What do you mean, ‘as soon as we get home’??” he flared. “We had an agreement! I don’t know about you, but it suited _me_ quite well! And now you’re here as if nothing happened and threaten to ‘take care’ of me?”

“Don’t throw a tantrum, Severus”, Eileen said, completely unimpressed. “You are very much like your father in that way, you know?”

“You have a nerve, even mentioning him!” Snape growled. “After all that happened …”

“ _Not_ with the old stories again.”

The tone was sharp and words got stuck in his mouth. He stared at his mother in disbelief. For the thousandth time, he marvelled at her capability to make and re-make the reality in which she lived as she pleased. He also wondered why she was still able to shut him up when she wanted to. Of course, the reason was obvious; all those years of living together on a wizarding island in a sea of Muggle trash, and with a Muggle monster to guard them. As uneasy as their relationship might have been, they were forever connected by shared secrets and decade-old pacts. In that moment, he suddenly had a scene before his inner eye in which he saw his childhood self slipping in by the back door after long hours outdoors – never mind the weather – and creeping towards the kitchen where his mother was making another futile attempt at baking a cake; she seeing him and nodding – ‘It’s alright. He’s gone.’ – and his first move had always been to the tiny fridge to take whatever scraps his father had left; and then to the kitchen table where he had sat down with her and she had shown him spell after spell, had let him use her wand generously, warning him every time not to tell anyone as he would get her into trouble with it, and she _only_ did this because he was such a talented boy, a true Prince; the warm feeling spreading in his belly then because these were the times when she was most attentive towards him and even affectionate. This image, etched into him by routine, was a representative of their relationship, with magic as glue. He knew at the same time that he would not be able to turn away and send her off. If truth be told, he had known this the moment he had first spotted her today, sitting in one of the spectators’ rows, following proceedings with a doubtful frown on her face.

With all these thoughts running through his mind, he completely forgot to deal out a snappy reply and instead merely stared at an elusive point between her and himself. As a result, Eileen Snape assumed that everything was well and she came closer, lightly patted the revers of his coat. “What about we go and visit Callistus first? And then we take it from there.”

He rolled his eyes. One part of him was ready to draw her into a fight. The other, however, just couldn’t be bothered, and so he sighed. “Hell, yes, why not.”

Eileen Snape gave a satisfied little smile and together they walked towards the exit.

 

Diagon Alley was business as usual, and that meant that he was at the receiving end of a range of dirty looks. However, the elderly witch walking beside him served as a kind of buffer. No one accosted him and he was well practiced at ignoring stares.

For the most part of the way, they walked in silence. If anyone spoke, it was his mother and only to make some deprecating remark about the sister she lived with these days – in her view, she was too lenient towards her children, allowing them Muggle ways and Muggle talk which would never have happened if _her_ mother had still been alive – and Severus used only about a quarter of his auditory capacity to listen. Every now and then, he glanced sideways at this older and female version of himself, at her small thin frame. No one would ever have missed that they were mother and son, they looked too much alike (except for the nose, of course, which he had courtesy of his father). The same complexion, the same heavy black brows and the twitchy way of walking. He was astonished at how natural it felt to move beside her, as if the years in between hadn’t happened. How long was it, anyway? Seven, eight years? Yes, eight years in which he had not seen her and hardly heard from her apart from the occasional motherly owl. Had he missed her? Certainly not. Did he like her? Hardly. (But then, he didn’t like an awful lot of people.) But did he _love_ her? – The answer to that question was infinitely more complex.

While he was still musing, they turned into Knockturn Alley and soon entered the dimly lit and low-ceilinged shop of old Callistus Applethorne, a man who had done Snape more than one service during his time as a double agent, providing obscure dark arts and advice. The vault-like sales rooms appeared deserted at first, but after Eileen had coughed loudly and pointedly, they heard the shuffling of feet coming from the back of the shop and shortly after that, its owner appeared, blinking his rheumy pale-blue eyes, his back bent by an almost biblical age. It took him a few seconds to recognize who had come to his shop, but when he did his features brightened up.

“Eileen! My girl!”

Callistus Applethorne was certainly old enough to call his mother that. Yet, Snape winced a little at the form of address. In his mind, there was nothing girlish about her and he couldn’t even imagine her young. Hence, it disturbed him a little when she let out a delighted squeal – the only times Severus had ever heard her squeal, it had been due to the ‘careful attention’ of his father – and even went over to lightly hug the old man. It was a mode of behaviour on her part that he had rarely ever witnessed, not even with her sister.

“How long has it been?” cooed Callistus – he was becoming sentimental in old age, Severus noted.

“Too long”, Eileen replied, pressing the man’s gnarled hand in both of hers, “it seems like a lifetime.”

“Sure does. – However, I need not ask you what brought you here.” The watery eyes swept towards Severus. “Your boy got himself into some trouble. – Lived to tell the tale, have you?”

“I don’t tell tales”, Snape said dryly.

Eileen snorted. “Don’t mind him”, she said to Callistus, “he’s grumpy. Sometimes I can’t tell the difference between him and Tobias.”

Severus opened his mouth, closed it again. Only years ago, he would have lectured her on how the difference lay in the fact that her only reaction to his father’s ‘grumpiness’ had been deference or downright fear – privileges that she would never have granted to her son to whose temper she was so impervious. But it was futile. With a resigned expression on his face, he turned towards the shelves that lined the shop and held some interesting artefacts.

“Ah, but you have a brave one there, Eileen. You must be very proud.”

“Well, he’s a Prince. Cowardice doesn’t run in our family. – But yes, I guess I am.”

Staring at a hippogriff embryo in a glass jar, Severus quirked an ironic eyebrow.

“Will you have a drink with me? For old times? I have a lovely elven-made wine.”

“Oh, I don’t know, at this time of day …”

“I’ll take one”, Severus said with a quick look over his shoulder, hoping that alcohol would dispose him more peacefully. He fully expected a caution from his mother and another comparison to the gracious donor of his hooked nose.

Instead, Eileen murmured, “Well, why not …”

“That’s what I wanted to hear!” With a happy chuckle, Callistus shuffled off to the back of the shop again.

As soon as he was gone, Eileen turned to her son. “He doesn’t look good”, she hissed.

“He’s old.”

“The shop doesn’t make much of an impression, either.”

“Last time I was here he said that he was having trouble. I’m not surprised. Selling dark artefacts in these days …”

“What a shame! He used to be such a fine man! And now? All those do-gooders sweeping up, swamping everything with their pink and white magic, it’s like the wizarding world has become a kid’s playground …”

“No use ranting about it, mother. That’s the way things are now.”

“You should put your foot down!”

“Me? Why? Or more importantly: how?”

“Use your influence with the Ministry!”

“What influence?”

“Severus, please, you’re a prominent figure now, and many people …”

“A prominent figure who just came out of a courtroom because half the wizarding world distrusts him.”

“Oh, come on, that’s just self-pity and you know it! There has never been a truly great wizard that didn’t meet with at least some …”

But Snape shushed her sharply, hearing Callistus’ footsteps making their painful way back to the sales room. In front of the old wizard hovered a tray with a full decanter and three earthenware cups which he sat down on a high table usually for customers with practiced, albeit jerky, wand movements. Looking meek again, Eileen took over the dispensing of the wine, only to be told by Callistus what a ‘sweet lovely girl’ she was. Snape sighed inwardly, but went to the table, his eyes firmly on a cup.

Callistus started on the conversation right away. “So tell us, quiet boy! They didn’t keep you there in the dungeons, so I guess that’s good news?”

“Like I said, I didn’t come to tell any tales”, Severus declared. “Plus, I’m quite sure that my mother will gladly do the job.”

Now it was Eileen who rolled her eyes. “One might have thought getting bitten by that snake would have changed him a little”, she intimated to Callistus as if Severus wasn’t present, “but no hopes there. He’s always been sullen.”

Callistus’ eyes widened politely, and Snape guessed that he was trying not to say ‘As have you’.

“Anyway, they wouldn’t have kept him as a result of what was officially only a hearing”, Eileen prattled on, “even the Wizengamot are not that brazen.”

“Wouldn’t put anything past them these days”, Callistus said reasonably. “They’re paranoid about anything that reeks of dark magic and I’m afraid your boy does.”

Eileen sharply turned her head and appraised her son. “He’s always had a knack for it. Most Princes do. Except for my poor sister, of course. – Besides, the dark arts are as valid a branch of magic as any. I’ve never had any time for restrictions in that area.”

“I believe, mother, Callistus was referring to my past associations”, Snape said silkily.

Eileen said nothing, merely put on the meek face again, but it had a twist in it.

“What’s with that man, anyway”, Callistus asked quickly, “who tried to kill you. What was his name?”

“Leshnikov. Pavel Volodimir Leshnikov.”

“I read about it in the papers, what he tried to do, I mean, but there weren’t all that many follow-ups. Has anything ever been found out about this man?”

“He was a brother-in-law of one of my former associates. I am sure I never met him before. Shedding some light on who he was, however, was supposed to be the point of that hearing.”

“Sure, but have they found anything out themselves? They must have investigated after you reported the incident.”

“I’m none too sure about that.” Snape stared at the low ceiling, avoiding Callistus’ gaze.

“I’ll tell you what they are thinking”, Eileen broke in, “they think that Severus brought this on himself. No matter that he saved this Potter brat they all love so much, and with not much more than a ‘Thank you’ from Dumbledore, oh yes, and being branded as a murderer on top of that! But that’s not good enough for them, the fall-out he’s got to deal with all by himself, even when …”

“Stop it, mother”, Severus said rather lazily, but as always when he wanted it, his voice carried. “Callistus has no interest in those stories.”

“In fact”, old Applethorne hastened to say, “there’s something I’m really curious about. That girl Leshnikov kidnapped, your – student?”

Eileen Snape gave a harsh laugh. “That’s his favourite past time, picking up stray Muggle witches and _telling_ them, _inaugurating_ them, he’s always done it!”

“Twice is always?” Snape breathed, controlling himself with an iron will.

“So you admit she’s another stray?” Eileen stared at him with a twisted smile.

“Her name is Elena.”

Callistus laughed out loud. Mother and son turned on him, their faces charged with the exact same confused scowl.

“What’s so funny?”

“The names.” Callistus chuckled happily. “They’re the same names! Eileen and Elena. Both forms of Helen.”

Sour faces answered.

“Just a name”, Snape muttered eventually.

“There’s a rumour about that she’s quite a pretty one”, Callistus said and buried his face in his cup with a grin.

“Of course, they always are”, Eileen stated, “a little bit too pretty for him, if you ask me. I mean, we were poor when he grew up, but we _did_ have mirrors in the house …”

The reply was ready in his mind. ‘You mean the ones your charming husband smashed when beating us up just hadn’t _quite_ taken the edge off?’ Later, he would congratulate himself on keeping it inside. Maybe he had moved on a bit. Maybe it would get easier over time.

“You’re being harsh, Eileen”, Callistus said as lightly as he could, “you’re son’s a hero now. And quite a wizard. The ladies might like that.”

“Are you done?!” bellowed Snape. – But how _much_ time until it got easier?

“He was always brave, and bright”, Eileen said matter-of-factly, “it didn’t impress that red-haired little minx, though, did it? – Oh yes, I remember her _very_ well, don’t look at me like that! All day long it was ‘Lily this’ and ‘Lily that’ and he was constantly nagging me to show him new jinxes to impress her …”

“There’s nothing like a discerning eye when it comes to women!” Callistus remarked, raised his cup at Snape and winked.

A lot of time. No doubt about it.

 

When enough wine had been consumed, Eileen Snape declared her intention of buying a number of obscure herbs and potions ingredients. Snape watched uneasily while she gave Callistus instructions, wrote down a list for him in her small and cramped handwriting and had the old man shuffle to his storerooms.

“What do you need all that stuff for?” Severus hissed as soon as he and his mother were alone in the sales room.

“I told you. We have to take care of that wound.”

“I _am_ taking care of it.”

From her face, he saw that she had a snappy comment on her tongue, but she swallowed it t and showed him a false smile. “I’m sure you’re doing what you can, my raven. Why don’t you let me try my hand a little bit?”

“Surrender myself to your care?” He looked at her pointedly. “What might come off that?”

Her sallow cheeks coloured a little. She knew exactly what he’d been playing at. “Listen, Severus, there is this solution I’m making. It does wonders. I’ve used it on Mairie’s kids many times, when they grazed their knees or something like that …”

“You’re comparing a snake bite to a grazed knee??”

“No! I’m just saying that you can use it for almost anything, it improves the natural healing powers of the skin. You’ll see, if we wash your wound with it regularly for five days, it’s going to provide …”

“Five days??” He sounded alarmed.

“Why, yes, ‘cause that’s how long the potion’s going to take to brew that I’m going to make for you. Have you ever thought of using snake venom?”

“That would be the last thing I’d use!”

“ _Similia similibus curantur_ ”, Eileen said with a wise-crack face. “You don’t happen to know what kind of snake it was that bit you? A viper? A colubrid?”

“It was green.” Snape suppressed a violent shudder. “And a Horcrux.”

Eileen considered this. “Well, doesn’t matter, I’m sure we’ll manage to get something together …”

“So it’s decided. You’re going to stay.”

She looked at him innocently. “Just until your wound gets better.”

“I’m almost forty years old!” He hated how plaintive his voice sounded. “Surely I cannot be expected to live with my mother at that age?!”

“Surely it won’t hurt you to live with your mother for a little while.”

“But we had an agreement! You said yourself that you didn’t want to live in that house anymore, and you gave it to me. That was the condition, remember, for me to keep mum about …”

She made a sharp gesture with her hand as Callistus Applethorne came back, arms full of jars and vials.

“Do you have some extract of snake venom, as well?” Eileen asked quickly and with feigned cheerfulness.

Callistus raised is wiry white brows. “Extravagant”, he commented, put down the paraphernalia he was carrying on the counter and obligingly scuffled off again.

“Maybe get some Devil’s Salvia, as well?” Severus suggested with a malicious hiss.

Eileen rolled her eyes. “Not _again_!”

“Oh, but I forgot, you know all the spots, don’t you, and it’s full moon soon, that’s perfect for harvesting, isn’t it, almost as if …”

“Severus!!”

He grinned at her crookedly while she squirmed under his glance.

“You don’t have to make this difficult from the start”, Eileen said and it sounded a little bit like pleading.

“How difficult it will be depends very much on how you are going to behave yourself.”

“How I _behave_ myself? Are you getting airs, young man?”

“Stop bickering, both of you!” Applethorne had come back and put a small glass jar with a greenish powder on the counter. Then he addressed Snape. “Let your mother try, boy. She has a rare talent, as you know. Worst thing that can happen is that your wound won’t improve, but it won’t get worse, either.”

“He always wants to do everything by himself, won’t accept any help …”

“I know a _little bit_ about making potions, mother!”

“Yes, but you young people don’t know the old ways anymore! You remember my grandfather, Callistus, the things he had up his sleeve when it came to potions?”

“Of course I remember him, my dear, he was quite the wizard and very smart with his mingles …”

“Well, I recently found an old book of his hidden away among Mairie’s stuff – I don’t know what she was doing with it, seeing as she can’t even properly skin a shrivel fig, but anyway – and I found the most interesting recipes …”

“Alright!!” Snape thundered furiously. “I’ll let you try. What choice do I have?”

As always, his anger didn’t even touch Eileen. She smiled at him in a manner that was supposed to be sweet. “You’ll see, sweetheart, it will make a difference. And it’s only a week! After that, I’ll be out of your hair …”

Severus Snape doubted this. However, he saw that it was no use arguing any longer, and he didn’t want to do anything of the kind in front of Callistus. ‘One week’, he pondered, ‘why now, of all times?’ The magical lesson he’d intended to have with Elena tonight occurred to him. What would become of it now? Some improvisation would be required. But then, wasn’t that his life? Improvising, adapting to any given situation as good as he could, when really he would have preferred neat and orderly with everything in its place. But such was his life. For some reason, he just wasn’t able to get that break …

 


	9. Breaking Patterns

**Breaking Patterns**

 

When they arrived at Spinner’s End, dusk started to cast its shadows over the dismal rows of terraced houses, softening the dilapidation but enhancing the spooky aspects of the place – the smashed windows of the deserted houses that looked like screaming mouths, the eerie dark channels of the narrow streets, the dirty orange of the streetlights that slowly flickered into action. Right after Apparating in the little cul-de-sac which Severus habitually used to make a clandestine appearance or disappearance in this Muggle stronghold, mother and son made their way towards the house that bound them together, in much the same way as magic did. Their footsteps reverberated from the cobbled road, thrown back by the grimy façades that enclosed it.

“This place will never change”, Eileen remarked in a low voice. “I wonder how you can stand it.”

“I can’t. – And I wonder why _you_ are so keen on coming back.” Quickly, Severus’ eyes swept over the house opposite his own. All the windows were dark, no one appeared to be home. Instantly, he began to wonder where she was. Gallivanting with the Hincks boy, perhaps? He gave the house a bitter scowl as if it was to blame. On the front steps sat a black cat, completely still and upright, nose turned into the air as if smelling the atmosphere. Lux being outside was the surest sign of Elena’s absence, ingratiating little scrounger that he was, making shameless use of her love for anything feline.

“Severus? Are you listening?”

He turned his head sharply and raised an inquisitive eyebrow at his mother.

“I was asking whether you had any boomslang and dragon scales in the house”, his mother repeated in a slightly nagging tone.

“Merlin’s beard, mother, I used to be the Hogwarts Potions Master”, he sighed, “so that question is superfluous. Plus, you’re being evasive.”

“I don’t know what you mean”, she hissed, increased her pace and reached the doorstep a few steps ahead of him. It was swiftly torn open.

“Mistress Prince!” a squeaky voice chirped. “Oh, this is a pleasure!”

“It’s good to see you, too, Gilly”, Eileen said haughtily to the little house-elf as she stepped over the threshold. “I trust you have received my owl?”

“Of course, mistress, and everything is prepared.”

“Wait a minute”, Snape growled irritably and sought his mother’s eyes; however, they were hard to catch since Eileen was suddenly busy with looking up and down the hallway, “the house-elf knew and I didn’t?” He glared at little Gilly who hunched her shoulders and looked confused.

“I told her not to tell”, Eileen declared and her voice sounded cold. “I knew that you’d become all hot and bothered about it and I thought that was the last thing you needed before your trial.”

“Indeed, now that I think about it, it _is_ the last thing I need even after the trial …”

Eileen issued a deep sigh. “Why must you always be so difficult?” She made her voice sound brittle with exasperation, but Severus knew his mother better than that. “And what is so interesting out there?”

He turned away from the small hallway window out of which he’d been staring across the street, and shrugged. “Nothing.”

Eileen smiled slyly, then resolved to let it go and turned to Gilly who was standing in the hallway in ever-prepared servility. “So my things have arrived? And you’ve moved them up into the master bedroom?”

“What??” Snape broke in sharply. “The master bedroom? That’s where _I_ sleep!”

“Really, Severus, you can’t expect me to stay in that small box room of yours, I’m well into my sixties!”

Snape rounded on Gilly. “You haven’t moved my things out, have you?”

Gilly’s eyes became very wide and very sad.

“Goddamn it!!” he bellowed, showered both mother and elf with looks of anger and disgust before he stomped off into the sitting room. It looked immaculate. The chaos of the day before had been dutifully removed by Gilly and nothing reminded of the mysterious intrusion anymore. It occurred to Severus that this was the only positive side of his mother staying, that the house would be more protected – certainly, Eileen Snape was witch enough to deal with intruders, well into her sixties or not. However, it was not reason enough to tame his irritation. – With determined strides, he went over to the windows where Gilly had already drawn the curtains. He tore them open so that the light would be visible from the other side of the street. There, however, the house still lay in darkness. It reminded him of Halloween night when he had looked for her everywhere, and he felt a shadow of the worry that had torn at him then. It took some will to focus and calm down.

His mother appeared in the doorframe, trying at a cheerful face – which came over a little false and crooked, the Prince physiognomy not allowing for much mirth. “About those ingredients …”

“Cellar”, he snarled and sat down at his desk, feigning preoccupation.

Eileen rolled her eyes and left the room. Snape heard her voice out there in the hallway, talking to Gilly. “The young master is in one of his moods today. Has anything occurred to upset him so, apart from that scam I witnessed?”

‘Yes, _you_ have’, thought Severus, supported his forehead in his hands, elbows on the desk, and sighed dejectedly. It was impossible. His mother living here, even if it was for only a week as she had continuously promised. Severus had his doubts, but although he would not have hesitated to throw anyone else out – and with a certain kind of relish, too – this was still his mother and hence his Achilles heel.

With another profound sigh, he took a roll of parchment, dipped his quill in ink and began to write. It was really more of a stopgap, he didn’t know what to write, but after a while he found that he had begun to set out a very structured plan for further magical lessons with Elena. The words ‘Legilimency’ and ‘Occlumency’ were at the centre – he was still convinced that she had a talent for it, although her efforts in that regard hadn’t amounted to much yet – and this made him think of Draco Malfoy and hence of his family. He wondered whether Lucius would receive another visit from the Ministry in which he would be asked to confirm Snape’s testimony of the night of the McKinnon assassination. Severus also asked himself whether Lucius would give it or whether his disappointment in his erstwhile friend would make him deny the it. However, Lucius Malfoy might be stubborn in his resentment, but he was not a liar. There was, of course, the possibility that he just didn’t care anymore …

A soft rapping at the window startled him out of his thoughts. Immediately, his stomach churned. Rap at the window … black owl … parchments in blood … However, the owl he found sitting on the outer window sill looking at Snape expectantly was a common barn owl and had nothing sinister about it. Severus opened the window and let the bird in, relieved it of a scrap of rolled-up parchment and read it, standing up. It was only a short message, but an interesting one, and at the bottom of it were the initials ‘R.J.L.’ Snape made a thoughtful face, then stuffed the message in the pocket of his coat.

When he looked up, he saw a light spring to life on the upper floor of the Crawford house. He realized that the illuminated window belonged to Elena’s bedroom. She had finally come home.

Instantly, Snape started to move. He disregarded the parchment and quill lying on his desk and spurted out of the sitting room, wondering why his hands suddenly trembled. He almost ran into his mother and tried to sidestep her, only to have her block his way with astonishing swiftness. “I thought you might want to know how I concoct that solution I told you about earlier …”

“Not now, mother!” He went for the front door, then stopped, thought twice, wheeled around and started up the stairs.

“Severus?!” his mother called after him, irritation ringing sharply in her voice.

When he came down again, with a bundle in his arm, she was still rooted to the spot and stared at him. “Are you going out?” she asked as if it was cause for alarm.

“Yess”, he hissed darkly and sidestepped her once more.

“Where to? When will you be back?”

It was his teenage years all over again. Worse even, because during his teens she had mostly been too preoccupied to care much about where he went, and when.

“You’ll see”, the responded curtly, threw over his travelling cloak and breezed out of the house.

When the cold November air hit his face – it smelt of a new bout of snow which would no doubt start to fall during the night – he breathed deeply, then started towards the Crawford house. Its front door opened precisely at that moment. In the deepening dusk, she was no more than a shadow, but he recognized her movements, her gait when she came towards him, the way how she threw back her hair over her shoulder. Suddenly, he was driven forward by what appeared to be the force of a strong magnet. His heart pounded, and when she passed below a flickering streetlamp and he saw her face, her smile meeting him, it raced. Two seconds later, they stood facing each other.

“Good evening, Professor”, she said cheerfully and with a mischievous gleam in her eye.

He didn’t reply. Being upset and excited at the same time left no room for words. Instead, he grabbed her wrist and dragged her after him towards his favourite Disapparating spot.

“Oh … okay …”, she mumbled, realizing his intention, “where are we going?”

“As far away from here as possible”, he growled.

“As far away as Iceland?”

“Don’t be daft.”

She giggled, but followed him like a lamb. When they had reached the cul-de-sac, he let go of her wrist and unfolded the bundle in his arms. It was a black cloak, old and tattered, but still whole. “Put it on”, he commanded, “with the hood up.”

“Splendid”, she said with a trace of irony, “everyone thinks already that I’m some gangster’s moll …”

“Where have you been?” he challenged her, to take off at least part of the excited edge. “The inquiry’s long over.”

Elena flashed him a stubborn look. “Having tea”, she replied tersely, “with a … friend.”

Severus scowled. No need asking who that friend was. He was quite certain he knew anyway, but he didn’t really want to. He yanked the hood onto her head, then roughly grabbed her hand again. “Brace yourself”, he commanded.

“I don’t _need_ to brace myself anymore”, she hissed at him.

“Even better”, he replied, completely unimpressed, and went for a particularly rough kick-off.

 

It was a reunion of sorts and as characteristic as could be. As always, he was a little overbearing, assuming without question that she was free and his to take wherever he fancied. In a different situation, it might have made her angry. As it was, however, Elena was simply glad to see him. In fact, she distinctly enjoyed his behaviour because this was Severus; Severus Snape, whom she had missed so much that it was quite impossible for her to be mad at him.

After they had touched down, Elena found herself on a narrow road covered in a thick blanket of snow. At Spinner’s End, it had been no more than sludge, but here it was winter wonderland and also quite a bit colder. Elena drew her cloak tighter around herself – it smelt of him, which she found pleasant – and looked about. On either side of the snowy road stood peculiar crooked houses with dimly lighted windows. She realized that she was standing at the centre of a village, overseen by a castle that sat on a rock.

“Hogwarts”, she said, smiling and a little awed.

“Not quite”, he replied, suddenly much calmer. “We’re in Hogsmeade.”

She had read about it. The only all-wizarding village in Britain. Hogwarts she had visited, about two weeks ago in fact, though only on the inside. Seeing the castle up there on its rock was more impressive than any image in a book could have conveyed.

“Come on”, Snape murmured, touching her elbow.

He took her a little way up the street, then turned into a side road. A short while later they were standing in front of a particularly sinister building. The floors were stacked on top of each other as if a small child had set them together. A sign with Gothic letters spelt ‘The Hog’s Head’. A pub. Elena gave Snape a curious side glance. Was she wrong or was he taking her on a _date_?

They entered the pub. Within seconds, Elena was sure that this was the dirtiest place she had ever been in, the floor covered in mud and the tiny windows so filthy that you would have had to press your nose against the panes to see anything at all outside. The tables were placed at awkward angles, with candle stumps on them. The smell in the pub was strange and a little disgusting. Only a few figures were about, sitting in corners in front of tanks and cups, but like she and Snape they wore cloaks with drawn-up hoods. Behind the bar stood a man with long wiry grey hair and beard and piercing bright-blue eyes behind spectacles. His features reminded Elena of a goat. The barman nodded to them.

“Good evening, Aberforth”, Snape said in his low voice, “quiet table?”

Another curt nod from the man named Aberforth who pointed to the end of the guestroom. “Take the alcove”, he said, “what will you have?”

“Fire Whiskey. And for the lady … red wine?” He looked inquisitively at Elena and she inclined her head in assent.

“Coming up.”

Severus led her to the indicated spot, a small table in a niche, enclosed by roughly timbered wooden boards for privacy.

“Why here?” Elena asked as soon as they had sat down.

“There’s a complication in my house”, Snape replied dryly. He, too, had drawn up his hood and she could only see the lower part of his face and, of course, the protruding nose.

“A _complication_?” she repeated curiously. “Why, has Hermione Granger dropped by to have Fire Whiskey?”

She didn’t know what had made her say it. She didn’t know, either, why it had come out so sharply. Severus looked up and for a brief moment she saw his black eyes reflecting the flickering flame of the candle. Then Elena heard a harsh laugh. “Did _she_ tell you that?”

“No. Her boyfriend did.”

She watched his mouth contort into a crooked grin. “And did the ingenuous Ron Weasley enlighten you on the cause of Ms Granger’s visit, as well?”

“No. But tell me about the _complication_ first.”

He sighed. “My mother.”

“Oops!” Her eyes became wide. “I see … Aren’t you pleased?”

“Do I look pleased?”

She chuckled. “Well, my sympathies then. – How long is she going to stay?”

“One week, she says. But no doubt by the end of it she’ll find a reason to stretch it indefinitely.”

Hearing the exasperation in his voice, Elena felt a strong urge to reach out and touch his hand. However, she resisted because his presence not only made her feel dizzy with excitement, but also with insecurity. Her heart pounded against her ribcage. Being so close to him after all this time – only a bit more than two weeks, but to her it felt more like two month – was enchanting and upsetting at equal measures. Also, she felt a mad grin on her face. A little too mad, perhaps, but not mad enough to shake Severus out of his usual cool. His voice was now as even and silky as ever, the flash in his eyes a little arrogant and all in all he conveyed the impression that nothing had happened between them apart from, perhaps, the beginnings of a tentative friendship.

“She has probably come for the hearing”, Elena heard herself chatter, “that’s rather nice of her, don’t you think, to come and support you?”

“I don’t know what her motive is exactly, but I can assure you that _being nice_ has nothing to do with it.”

Elena didn’t know how to reply. “Tell me about the story behind the Fire Whiskey party, then.”

Severus exhaled, and she thought she felt his relief at the change of subject. Right away, he launched into an account about how he had found an intruder in his Hogwarts office the other day, an intruder who had managed to escape in quite a breath-taking manoeuvre, leaving mayhem behind. “At first, he ransacked my house”, Snape explained, scowling darkly, “knocked out my house-elf …”

“Gilly?!” Elena broke in. “The poor thing! Is she alright?”

“Yeah, yeah”, Snape said with an impatient wave of his long thin hand. “But of course, she couldn’t stop him. He then came to my office where I found him, but I was too slow, or rather my blasted new wand was …”

“Anything stolen?”

“Just a little thing. From my house.” Snape paused for a few seconds, and as Elena could only see part of his face, it was difficult to interpret his expression. “Nothing valuable”, he added eventually.

“What do you think was the purpose?”

“Upset me”, Snape said without hesitation. “Rattle me on the eve of the hearing.”

Elena pondered this. She asked herself whether he was being a little paranoid, but then she remembered her interview with Periwinkle and his sidekicks, and the proceedings at the Wizengamot and thought that he probably wasn’t. Also, she could see the malicious logic behind carrying out an attack on the inner sanctuary of a man who preferred to practically live as a recluse. “You mean so that you would present yourself badly in court?”

“Something like that.” He twitched. “It’s not over, that much I can tell you. I was recently informed that there is a plan out there to ruin my reputation, at least. To ruin it _beyond repair_.”

As his scowl deepened, Elena shifted uncomfortably at the frustration in his words. “You did well at the hearing, though”, she said softly. “At least that’s what I think.”

Again, there was a flash of his black eyes. “What were you doing there, anyway?” he asked irritably.

The harshness of the question shook her at first, but then she remembered the things he had said, or had been made to say. “I wanted to see how you were doing. Plus, I didn’t hear all of it. They wouldn’t let me in at first, because there was a list and I hadn’t put my name down. But I found ways …”

His mouth twitched. It was, perhaps, a grudging respect for resourcefulness.

“For example, I completely missed the part when you were questioned about Leshnikov.”

Severus snorted. “You didn’t miss much. Every other topic got a more thorough treatment than the actual purpose of the hearing. In fact, it was my impression that they weren’t all that interested in Leshnikov, they thought he was a mess I brought upon myself.”

“Has anything been found out in the meantime? About him? When I was interviewed, they asked me where he had his base, where he kept his stuff. Of course, I had no idea.”

“Nor do they”, sneered Snape. “I’m pretty sure no one bothered to put a lot of effort into finding out more.”

“Then _we_ have to”, Elena said urgently.

“ _You_ will do nothing of that sort!” He brushed back his hood a little and for the first time since their reunion, he looked her square in the eyes. “I, however, am going to meet with Remus Lupin tomorrow. It appears he’s got something important to tell me, at least judging from the place where he wants to meet.”

“Which place?”

“A house in London”, he replied uncommunicatively.

“Are you going to tell me about it?”

“We’ll see.”

Elena smiled to herself. He was as always. Irritable, bossy and monosyllabic, but that was his way of controlling an uncertain situation. Also, he was still protective of her. She kept thinking that he would never have just whisked her away to talk to her if he didn’t care. As far as she knew, he had hardly any friends or confidants. At the same time, she had no way of telling whether he thought about the night in the lighthouse or whether he had put it entirely out of his mind. Elena had no idea what it meant to him and this fact compounded her uncertainty. Slowly but inevitably, she felt herself gliding back into a situation where a man left her completely in the dark about his feelings. Old patterns enclosed her, as if she was a fly caught in a spider web. How could she possibly break out of it?

For lack of a plan, she tried a change of topic. “Can I ask you something, Severus?”

He looked up, surprise in his eyes, maybe at the still unfamiliar use of his first name. It might also have set off some memories. Anyway, he didn’t, as usual, remind her of how much he hated personal questions, but commanded her with a twitch of his head to go on.

“Why did you tell them about Lawrence McKinnon? You didn’t have to.”

He stared at the table top then. “Yes, I did.”

She thought about it. “You mean you don’t want to lie anymore? You want everybody to see you for who you are?”

“I don’t care about _everybody_ ”, he spat, “but it is a well-known fact that I was a Death Eater. Would it be believable that I never bloody killed anyone?”

She frowned. “Probably not.”

“Also, you’re right”, he went on, “I’ve lied enough. And I figured that seventeen years of working for the Order of the Phoenix and putting my life on the line for a large portion of that time – and being almost killed myself, I might add – should be enough to ensure that I don’t have to lie anymore.”

“Do you think there may be consequences, though?”

“There sure will be. More investigation, more questions …”

“What I mean is, do you think that you might be …”, her voice trailed off.

“Arrested? Put in jail?” Severus snorted. “It is possible. But again, I hope – and trust – that my past actions in service of the Order will count for something.”

“And if that is not the case?”

“You mean, if they put me on trial for murder?” He paused, squirmed a little. “I’d rather cross that bridge when I get there.”

“If it comes to it, you could always leave the country. Surely, you’re wizard enough not to be found when you don’t want to?”

But he shook his head ferociously. “I’m _not_ going to bolt. That is quite out of the question.”

She scrutinized him uncertainly. “Too much pride …”

“I know”, he broke in. “But I’m not a coward. I cannot run. And I don’t want to discuss it.”

After staring doggedly ahead of himself for a couple of seconds, he hesitantly sought her eyes, found them, and a smile. Something caught. It was like glue, neither of them was able to look away. At last, it was Severus who broke the contact by one of his twitches. Elena groaned inwardly. The night in the lighthouse was spiralling out of sight as she watched on helplessly. How was she ever going to get to him? She might sit here all evening, smile at him, look him openly in the eyes, let him know that she didn’t judge and was on his side, but it didn’t appear to register with him, or at least not to the degree that she so desperately needed him to understand. ‘ _Break the pattern_ ’, Katja’s voice said in her head. And then suddenly she saw it. There was only one way to break the pattern of doubt and insecurity, of not knowing what was what. Something inside her – her coward self – recoiled from the realization, wanted to escape and hide. However, a different part of her saw very clearly how that would get her exactly nowhere, not with him, anyway. She had to act.

The belated arrival of their drinks put a stop to that line of thought. Severus made a terse comment about declining standards in service to Aberforth, but the grey-haired man merely reacted with a benign and unfazed smile. “It’s alright, Snape”, he grumbled, “we all know you had a rough day”, and took off.

They started on their drinks and after a while, Severus asked about Elena’s interview with Periwinkle. As it turned out, he already knew quite a lot about it, courtesy to his drinking pal Hermione Granger. He also knew that Elena had challenged Periwinkle’s religious feelings and made a snappy comment on it, albeit with a hint of glee on his face.

“If there’s one thing I hate”, Elena explained, “it’s a bigot. Sure, I can see that the man is on a noble course. He wants justice. But he is so driven by it, I think it made him bitter. That young man who was with him … I don’t know if it was his son or grandson or nephew … but he was definitely frightened of him, cowed into complete submission …”

“Polarity”, Severus snarled.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Life is polarity. Light and dark, good and evil. You have to give both sides its due. If you become too invested in pursuing the so-called ‘good’ and completely repress anything you consider to be bad, the evil will sneak up on you from behind. I’ve seen it many times. The fallacy of the goody-two-shoes.”

“And with you it’s the other way around?”

A sharp jolt of his head. “What d’you mean?”

“You used to be so busy being the bad boy that ‘the good’ sneaked up on you until you couldn’t ignore it any longer?”

The look he returned was one of utter surprise. He had obviously never thought about it that way. Slowly, he tilted his head. “Maybe”, he said eventually, then something occurred to him. “The second man that came with Periwinkle …”

“His name was Finn McVey.”

Snape’s heavy brows quirked, and although he said nothing, Elena picked up the tension.

“Do you know him?” she asked.

“Yes, I know him.”

“How?”

“He is a talented negotiator. Good with words, in bringing people together. Also highly manipulative. – In the past, he helped the Dark Lord and his followers to make certain contacts, strike bargains …”

“He worked for _Voldemort_?”

“He never chose a side”, Severus sneered. “Too clever for that. He never got too involved, either, just served whoever paid most at any given moment. – He’s got goblin blood, you see. Goblins love gold more than anything. McVey would sell his grandmother if the price was right.”

“I can’t believe a man like that is working for the Ministry!”

“Actually, everyone with a none-too-sullied vest can get into the Ministry these days.”

“Now you’re exaggerating!”

“I don’t think I am”, Severus said with a haughty lift of his chin.

“Anyway, it explains why McVey didn’t quite fit in with the other two. All the time during the interview, I had this impression that he was somehow _amused_.”

“Ah, certainly, that man is continually amused.” Snape didn’t make any effort to hide his dislike. “He’s an opportunist, you know, and he doesn’t even believe in our system of government, in our institutions, not one bit. He’s just playing it.”

Elena’s eyes narrowed. “You appear to know him quite well”, she observed.

“There were times”, Severus replied with a sly smile, “when I could not afford not to know about people like McVey. Now, however, I’m quite ready to forget his kind.”

It sounded final, and since Elena didn’t have anything to add on the topic, they fell once more into an awkward silence. Sipping at their drinks allowed them to keep their hands busy, but that only went so far. They had exhausted all other possibilities, caught up on everything that had happened during the time they had not seen each other. The stage was free for old patterns to reappear. Elena’s skin tingled. ‘ _Now’_ , a calm voice inside of her said, ‘ _break it. Now!_ ’

“By the way, I passed my Apparition test a week ago!” she blurted out nervously.

Severus looked up. There was relief in his eyes. He even smiled a little. “That’s good.”

It almost made her laugh. Why, she was lucky he hadn’t said ‘at last’. ‘Congratulations’ would be too much to ask. How awkward he was sometimes! ‘ _And that’s exactly why_ ’, the calm inner voice said.

Elena sighed. Then, with a very funny feeling in her gut, she gave herself a shove.

“Severus”, she said.

He turned his face to her and there was definitely ill foreboding in his eyes. “What is it?” Was she wrong or was his voice hoarse?

She paused a few seconds before she spoke. “Do you sometimes think of what happened between us? In the lighthouse?”

Seconds dripped away, like lazy honey. Severus’ eyes were glued to the table top, but Elena made herself look at him, challenge him. Contrary to what she’d expected, a peculiar calm was spreading inside her.

“Yes”, he said, very quietly, eyes gliding slowly towards the flickering candle.

She took a deep breath. “Do you regret it?”

Another score of seconds dripped into a deep, peaceful well. Then, at last, “No.”

She smiled, inclined her head. “Nor do I.”

Their eyes met again, but only for a brief moment before he broke the contact. Elena sat very still. She knew – although she had no idea how – that this was not all, that she had to give him time. Later, she wouldn’t even remember if it was one minute, two or five.

“Elena”, he said eventually, and the way he said it with his silky voice made her shiver. Again, he paused a few seconds before going on, eyes fixed to the flame. “I’m in a difficult position right now. People will observe very carefully what I’m going to do in the next weeks and months, I’ll be under very close scrutiny …”

She frowned. It would have sounded like a cheap brush-off, hadn’t there been a strange expression in his eyes, one that willed her to understand, one that even seemed to plead. He held her gaze now, doggedly and imploringly, and she sensed that there was much more than his words could convey.

“I’m a Hogwarts Professor”, he went on with a catch in his voice, “and you’re my student … it would look …” Again, he trailed off and she resolved to help him a little.

“Immoral?” she suggested.

He squirmed. “Not exactly that. But it might cast me in a light which … is not desirable at the moment.”

“I know what you’re saying”, she replied calmly. “It’s a bad time, I understand that. And I certainly don’t want to make your life more difficult, let alone demand anything from you.” She stopped, took another ragged breath. “But there is something that you should know.”

He looked at her, his face a blank.

Elena’s mouth was suddenly dry and she had to force herself to speak. “You should know that … I think … no, I _know_ … I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Silence.

When her mind heard the words she’d just spoken, it instantly started to bitch. _‘Are you crazy, woman?’_ But they were out, echoed in her head. No doubt she had said them. And, well, Severus would hardly be staring at her _that_ stupid if she hadn’t. In fact, he looked dumbstruck. He stared, he swallowed, and then his eyes dove away, gluing themselves to the edge of the table once more, evading her gaze.

‘Great’, she thought. Why exactly had she done this? But an intuition told her to wait. He might say something eventually. And then he did.

“I don’t understand why.” His voice was still hoarse, but there was an urgency in it.

“Fishing for compliments, are we?”

The flash of his eyes was sharp and angry.

“Hooold on!” Elena chuckled as she held up a defensive hand. “I was only teasing you. – I know what you mean, of course. Why you? Why not someone … more _suitable_? Younger, for instance, and closer to my world. – Is that it?”

“Obvious questions”, he pressed forth.

She grinned. “Someone like Eddie Hincks, maybe?”

He shrugged, feigning indifference, but there was a deep vertical line above his nose and his voice sounded gruff when he mumbled, “I’m sure he’d take you.”

“Yeah, probably”, she agreed. “But I think you know very well how these things go. See – my heart just doesn’t beat faster when Eddie Hincks walks into the room. But it does when you do.”

Severus digested this with an impassive face. His frame was very still, but Elena thought that she detected the suppressed signs of twitches and a little tremor at the corners of his mouth. What he thought, however, was impossible to tell. She knew no better than to babble on.

“Like I said, I don’t demand anything. I don’t have the right to … also … I know … and I appreciate … how much _she_ still means to you …”

Now the black eyes became wide. She saw him flex his fingers. “It’s not that”, he muttered.

However, she was suddenly very flustered and had to talk her way out of it. “You said it today in the hearing … and I think it was good you did … it made an impression … not only with me …”

“She’s dead.”

The finality of the words made Elena shut up. She searched his face for signs of sadness and desperation, but it was once again unmoveable as well as unreadable.

“You don’t know very much about me”, he observed after a while.

“Granted”, she admitted, “but perhaps I know a little more about you than most people?”

He considered this. “Maybe. But only because ‘most people’ don’t know anything about me.”

“Then tell me.” She tried to make her voice sound light. “What is there to know about you that’s so problematic? I mean, apart from the things I do already know.”

She’d expected that it would take him another few seconds to answer, but in fact he replied right away. “I’m still interested in dark arts”, he stated matter-of-factly. “Always have, always will be. Another thing I have to be very careful about these days. That doesn’t change the fact though that to me it is an important and valid part of magical knowledge and I’m not going to stop pursuing it. Only that I go about it … differently now.”

“Different how?”

There was a little smile on his face now. “I practice it in a very contained manner. And I take care to ensure that the required sacrifices stay within boundaries that I can justify.”

“Sacrifices?”

“Dark magic always requires sacrifice”, he explained evenly. “Whether it is blood, comfort or one’s own sanity doesn’t really matter. The dark arts won’t give you anything unless you’re prepared to give back.”

She thought about it and took her time to reply.

“I’m not really surprised”, she said eventually. “Actually, I guess I always knew. In fact, I may know much more about you than you imagine. – Anyways, you won’t chase me off with it.”

“I didn’t want to …”, he broke off abruptly, suddenly completely jittery and flexing his fingers frantically.

She suppressed a grin. “All I’m saying is … you know how I feel now. Don’t play with me, alright?”

Again, she made herself look square into his eyes.

“I won’t”, he muttered, his gaze earnest and intense. The contact broke only after several seconds and left Elena with a warm, tingling feeling in her stomach. For a while, none of them spoke.

“By the way, I like what you’re wearing today”, Elena said lightly. “Much better than the priest frocks.”

Severus glared at her, then looked down at his formal suit, looked up, opened his mouth, shut it again. He wasn’t used to compliments and had no idea how to react. “Necktie itches”, he mumbled and tugged a little at the offending item. In no time, his eyes were on the table edge again.

They were back to silence, but this time its atmosphere had changed. There was an enchanting calm in it, as if it had been cleared. They sipped at their drinks, almost companionably. Elena thought about what he’d been telling her – his on-going fascination for dark arts, and she wondered why it had been so important for him to mention it. There was only one answer: he wanted her to see him for who he was, rather than have her waste her affections on an edited version of himself. She felt his need for truthfulness and for a new start, but she also sensed that he didn’t trust it, that he expected to be rejected because of it. Maybe, she thought, in telling her about the importance of dark arts for him, he had been testing her, trying to unmask her feelings for him as an ill-conceived infatuation. The only thing she had to do now was prove him wrong, and something told her that he wanted that proof, needed it, even.

She smiled at him across the table. The corners of his mouth jumped and he returned the smile, briefly and a little awkwardly. Elena didn’t know why, but somehow and in spite of his evasive reply to her confession of love – referring to the difficult times and the fact that he was presently under critical scrutiny by the wizarding community – this felt like a victory. It made her feel very light.

“What about some practice after we finish this?” he asked after a couple of minutes, pointing to their glasses.

“Here?” she asked, surprised, casting her eyes around the grimy pub. It didn’t exactly offer itself as an ideal place for magical studies.

“No. I mean outdoors. I was thinking about some fighting practice.”

“In this weather??” In spite of herself, she shuddered.

Severus raised his eyebrows sarcastically. “Ah, I see. Another one who thinks she’s only ever going to be attacked in broad daylight, and in fine weather, too!”

“I’m not exactly dressed for it”, Elena said lamely, thinking about her pencil skirt and elegant boots that she had put on for the hearing.

The sarcasm on his face deepened. “Same argument”, he snarled.

“Alright, alright”, she raised a defensive hand. “Where d’you want to practice?”

“You’ll see”, he said with a secretive smile, raised his glass and drained it.

 

He took her out of Hogsmeade, towards the castle. Side by side, they climbed a steep slope, crunching snow under the soles of their boots. Severus didn’t talk, just lead the way, as always confident that she would follow. They reached a wide plane, skirting a sinister forest with trees so huge and old as Elena had hardly ever seen them. The wind in the branches seemed to whisper, chattering about the olden times and a thousand stories that came with it. Drifts of flakes, brightly reflecting the moonlight, blew across the plane which had the proud medieval castle as a backdrop, but was still well out of sight of it.

Severus stopped and took out his wand. “Take position”, he commanded lazily.

Elena ignored him. “The new wand”, she remarked, eyeing it interestedly.

“You don’t need to tell me”, he said stiffly, “I know it’s ugly.”

“No, it’s not.” She came closer, inspected it. “This is how wands looked in my old fairy-tale books. Like a tree branch, not some smooth and polished thing.” It made him sneer a little, but Elena was visibly fascinated. “See how it shines silver and green in the moonlight? Those are your colours, aren’t they?”

Severus looked at his wand in surprise and found that she was right. In the pale light that illuminated the plane, the greyish bark of the wand appeared, in fact, silver with a very slight greenish tint. He wouldn’t have noticed it, but the realization made him warm to the thing. It was as if she had made him see a beauty to which he had hitherto been blind. This was a quality of hers – seeing beauty in unlikely places – that he had observed earlier. It strongly reminded him of someone else. Dreamily, he rested his eyes on the mane of her hair before he realized what he was doing and shook himself out of it.

“Enough with the adoration”, he said tersely, “let’s start. We should put in at least one hour of good work.”

And so they did.

After more than two weeks without practice, Elena found that she had become quite rusty. Snape’s spells disarmed her effortlessly and sent her flying across the plane more than once. After a short while, her cloak was covered in snow and becoming soggy. It was hard to run in her narrow skirt and with the high heels, but it was only she who did any running at all. Severus, for the most part, stood rooted to the spot, lazily dealing out spells and dodging hers easily. Of course, he had a snappy comment prepared for each of her futile attempts, but at the same time, Elena realized that something had changed about him. Standing there on the plane, commanding, commenting and counselling, he appeared to be relaxed and at ease. Chuckles about her manoeuvres came easily to him now, and although they were partly derisive, he visibly enjoyed the practice, as if he, too, had missed it.

“Merlin’s beard”, he shouted to her at one point, but with a laugh in his voice, “do you remember _anything_ that I told you??”

Covered in snow from head to toe and wetness seeping into her boots, Elena glowered at him. Smug bastard! But she had something prepared for him. A spell she had learnt out of a book and tried on some old furniture in Anna’s attic during the last two weeks. He wouldn’t see it coming as he appeared to believe that she knew nothing beyond the jinxes he had taught her. She only had to wait for the right moment …

It came after another one of her Disarming spells had achieved nothing but stir up the blanket of snow beside him. Severus saw from the get-go that it would come off badly, and he didn’t even bother to dodge it. He grinned lazily at the stirred-up gust of snow, muttered something that sounded like “Very impressive” and turned away.

Now!

Elena swiftly raised her wand, hissed the incantation and threw the spell at his back. The wave of magical energy that issued from the tip of her wand was strong and focussed. It would hit him hard and already a satisfied smile played around her mouth.

However, Severus’ battle instincts were as acute as ever. He felt the wave coming at him even without looking, and he wheeled around as swiftly and elegantly as a dancer. With a very short but effective jerk of his wand, he caught her spell and instinctively threw it back at her. That was when she noticed how good it really was because the rebound lifted her off her feet once more and sent her flying high, high into the air. She pedalled her legs desperately, her arms got caught in the fluttering folds of her cloak, and when she thudded to the ground her fall was softened by a cushion of undergrowth. Her wand slipped out of her hand, and she saw it out of the corners of her eyes, spiralling high above her and being swallowed by the darkness of the woods.

“Damn it!” she swore as she struggled out of the bushes that pricked her arms. She knew she was in for a new round of snarky comments because he had told her a thousand times over to _never_ let go of her wand if she wasn’t exactly disarmed, to grip it even when seriously hurt and how this must become a reflex which, in his mind, she hadn’t mastered nearly well enough.

She came to her feet, looked around herself and realized that she was in the forest. Through the trees, she could still see the snowy plane gleaming. Gosh, that spell had been good! Although it had been turned on her, she couldn’t help feeling a glowing satisfaction. Once she hit it, she hit it really well!

“Elena?!” Severus’ voice sounded far away.

“I’m here!” she cried. ‘But without my wand’, she thought and stared in the direction where it had been flying into the forest. Maybe she could find it before Severus found her? Quickly, she stumbled over ice-encrusted needles and roots towards where woods assumed her wand must have fallen. The thickness of the forest enclosed her. She was well aware that they bore the sinister name Forbidden Forest and that it was off-limits to Hogwarts students. It didn’t impress her much, though. After all, she was with her teacher who was probably _the_ most powerful wizard in the country by now! Eagerly, she scanned the ground, parted bushes and lifted snowy fern in search, confident that Severus would be with her any second.

Suddenly, with her eyes still glued to the ground, Elena felt a presence. She looked up. In front of her stood a dark figure. It looked distinctly human. Elena narrowed her eyes, for better vision. “Hi”, she whispered, but there was a catch in her voice.

The figure came closer. It moved strangely, as if limping. Elena saw wiry curly hair, then she was able to discern features. With a jolt, she realized that a man was standing in front of her, a man wearing a grin and … no clothes at all. Yes, he was completely and utterly naked, and in the moonlight sneaking through the dense branches of the trees, she saw its bluish gleam.

Something about the face seemed familiar. Out of nowhere, she remembered a holiday in Greece with her parents, museums, excavation sites, painted vases with lewd scenes, involving serenely smiling nymphs and – creatures like this. Creatures with goatees and horns on their heads. And this one had a third horn, further down, and it was much larger than the two horns of the head combined. Her eyes widened in disbelief and, eventually, horror.

“SEVERUS!!” Elena screamed at the top of her voice. She stumbled backwards, bumped into a body. More naked skin, smooth and cold, another grin, another huge horn. Again, she screamed and the sound rang shrilly through the forest as the two creatures closed in on her, touching her with ice-cold hands ...

It was in this moment that Snape broke through the bushes, wand raised. He shouted an angry incantation and two white jets zoomed over Elena’s head. She heard a grunt, then another one, and a second later the two naked figures fell to the ground, as heavy as two sacks of potatoes, and lay still. Elena stood and stared while Severus came to her side. She felt his hand on her shoulder, gripping it, turning her to him.

“Are you alright?” he muttered under his breath.

“Yeah.” Her eyes were on the two figures on the ground. “Satyrs!” she hissed. “I read about this in the _Prophet_!”

“Yes. They made it to Scotland”, Snape, too, stared at the unconscious figures in distaste, “I’ll be damned.”

“I lost my wand”, Elena confessed plaintively.

But he merely waved an impatient hand. “Wouldn’t have helped you without the proper spell”, he murmured. “I _was_ going to teach you … later.”

“What are they doing here, anyway?” Tension and relief made her blabber. “This is not their climate! See how their skin is frozen blue?”

“Well, that’s probably why they wanted a little … warmth”, Severus commented coolly.

Elena stared at him. “Don’t make fun about that!”

He looked up, glum and a little embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to …”

“What are we going to do about them?” she demanded heatedly. “We can’t leave them lying here, can we? They might wake up and go at the students …”

“Of course we can’t leave them here”, Snape muttered and it was obvious that he was going through the options in his mind. “Actually, this is quite a crisis. I have to deal with it right away, alert the headmistress.”

Elena watched with worried eyes as he came to a decision, raised his wand and, after a tiny moment of hesitation, intoned “ _Expecto Patronum_!”

A blue jet erupted from the tip of his wand, developing into a slender and elegant doe that blinked at Severus with its beautiful large eyes and then galloped away through the forest, into the direction where Snape sent it with another curt wave of his wand. When the doe was gone, he turned around to Elena, his eyes on the ground. Once more, he looked a bit embarrassed.

“What now?” Elena asked eagerly.

“We wait”, he replied, still not meeting her eyes. “Finding your wand would be a good idea, as well.” Again, he raised his and muttered “ _Accio baculum Elenae_ ”. Quite nearby, a bush rustled and spat out Elena’s wand which Snape caught in his hand and passed to her. She was still trembling with adrenaline.

“This is unbelievable!” she muttered. “Those creatures shouldn’t be here! What would they have done if you hadn’t come?”

Severus looked stricken. “Do I have to spell that out for you?”

“Gosh!” She shuddered. “And with these _huge_ …”

“I know.” His lips were a thin twitching line.

For almost a minute, they stood without a word, neither of them knowing what to say. Eventually, Snape overcame his embarrassment by going into teaching mode and explaining to her the only effective spell to rout satyrs. She only listened with half an ear, trying hard to control her trembling hand.

Eventually, they heard someone coming closer. Heavy footsteps crunched the forest ground and in the next moment, another figure broke through the bushes. Elena’s eyes widened yet again, since the person who came to meet them was without doubt the hugest man she had ever seen. His robes looked like a family tent and he had a huge mane of scraggly hair with matching beard. He panted as he came towards them.

“Professer!” he breathed, “I saw your Patronus. Is somethin’ the matter?” He had a broad Scottish accent.

“I guess you could say that”, Snape replied coolly and pointed to the ground, before he turned to Elena. “This is Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper. – Ms Horwath.”

“Hi there”, Elena piped up shyly.

“Ma’am.” Hagrid looked at her curiously, then turned his attention to the two unmoving figures lying on a thin blanket of snow. “So they’re here!” he stated, sounding a little excited.

“Yes, they’re here. Which means that we cannot put off our search of the Forbidden Forest one minute longer.” Severus had clearly found his equilibrium again and was back to bossy.

“I’ve ne’er seen one of those!” Hagrid issued as he inspected the unconscious satyrs. “Blimey, they look exactly like in the books …” For some reason, he sounded like a matron cooing over a cute little baby.

“Curb your enthusiasm, Hagrid”, snarled Snape. “We have to alert McGonagall right now.” He turned to Elena. “And we have to break this off, I’m afraid.” He fidgeted a little. “I’m going to take you home.”

“Not necessary”, Elena said quickly. “I can Apparate now, remember?”

“You shouldn’t let the young lady walk ter the spot by ‘erself, Professer”, Hagrid said. “Not with them creatures around. – Don’t worry, I’ll take care of those two.”

“’Take care’ as in ‘lock them up’, not as in ‘take them to your hut and pamper them’, mind you.” There was a nasty edge to Severus’ words; he did not appear to like this Hagrid very much.

“Sure thing, Professer”, Hagrid mumbled.

“Meet you at McGonagall’s then? And don’t forget to wake up Filius.”

“I will. I mean, I won’t …”

“Let’s go.” Elena felt Severus’ fingers nudging her elbow.

“Bye then”, she said in Hagrid’s direction, still a little overawed by his appearance.

The huge man kneeling beside the satyrs looked up and gave her a grin. “Bye, luv.”

Snape frowned a little as if he took exception to Hagrid calling her ‘luv’, but he said nothing and motioned her to move. They walked out of the forest and along its rim towards the nearest Apparition spot.

“I wonder how they came here”, Elena mused. “The satyrs.”

“I have no idea”, Severus replied. “And I don’t like it one bit.”

“What d’you mean?”

“It’s all a little bit much. The hearing. People wanting to ruin my reputation. The intrusion in my office. And now satyrs.”

“Surely you’re not implying that the satyrs came here to rattle _you_?”

“They’re here to rattle something”, Snape growled. “It’s like so many pieces of jigsaw puzzle that somehow don’t fit together.”

Elena gave him a long side-glance. There were deep lines on his forehead and he was obviously thinking hard.

They reached the Apparition spot and bade each other goodbye. “To be continued on the weekend?” Severus asked.

Was she wrong or was there an eagerness in his voice? His eyes sought hers, and again their looks caught, stuck to each other.

“Alright”, said Elena, feeling a little dizzy. “And … well, thanks for not letting those creatures rape me.”

“Of course not”, he mumbled, jittery again.

She smiled at him radiantly. “Best of luck for your search. Take care. And good night.”

His eyes still clung to hers. He twitched, opened his mouth, closed it. Then, with an awkward nod he said a curt “Good night.”

Elena gave him another bright smile, waved her wand and a second later she had vanished.

 

Severus Snape stared at the place from where she had disappeared for a long time. Much longer than he should, really. As it was, he had to consciously shake himself into action so as not to stay glued to the spot and look like an utter fool.

When he finally made his way up to the castle, however, his steps felt peculiarly light. The lightness was in his head, as well, making it spin a little. He moved very quickly, a sudden burst of energy driving him forward and making him feel years younger, bursting with strength.

He entered the castle, crossed the Great Hall that lay in silence and dim light, and spurted up the moving staircase in the direction of the Headmistress’s Office. His heart pounded, he felt wide awake and he knew that the reason was not the impending search of the Forbidden Forest. What made him feel like this were the words that his mind kept repeating, as if in an endless loop.

_‘I think … no, I know … I have fallen in love with you.’_

In love with him.

In love with him.

He didn’t even know what those words meant. He wasn’t even ready to think through their implications. One thing was for sure, though: in a very, very long time, nothing had made him feel like those words did right now. They seemed to lift him up the stairs, his feet appeared to hover inches above the ground. His chest was suddenly wide, as if his ribcage had expanded.

With a chuckle of surprise, Severus Snape realized that at this very moment he felt quite gloriously and, in fact, almost ecstatically happy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked Sev's and Elena's reunion :-)


	10. Grim Old Grimmauld Place

**Grim Old Grimmauld Place**

 

Remus Lupin stood by the window, slightly parting yellowish gauze curtains and looking down on the urban London scene outside. It was a cold and drizzly afternoon, clouds hung heavily from the sky and the people that hurried along the pavement were hidden under umbrellas or shrouded in jackets with hoods. The street was slippery with grimy sludge, the snow of the night before mixing with rain, dirt and exhaust particles. It was the kind of weather that made everybody in their right mind seek warm shelter as soon as their daily business outside was done. Certainly, it would have occurred to no one to stop and wonder why in this innocuous road in the borough of Islington the house numbered thirteen followed immediately upon number eleven. Even in fair weather, this little oddity hardly registered with the Muggles living nearby anymore; they were used to it and probably considered it the result of botched city planning originating from a time when such things were not as meticulously organized as they were today. And in fact, this explanation was far more reasonable than the truth, namely that number twelve was invisible, hidden from curious eyes by complicated jinxes.

‘ _We_ are unreasonable’, Remus thought, ‘our whole existence is.’ Not for the first time did he ponder the fact that the main reason for the Statute of Secrecy generally working so well was that Muggles did not really _want_ to know, that they were too scared to know, and not because wizards kept to it so religiously. It was otherwise hardly explainable why the recent turmoil of the war had generally gone unnoticed among the non-magical population. Whenever the irrational and surreal broke into cosy Muggle lives, they usually chose to ignore it. And this ignorance was the soil on which the wizarding world thrived, which enabled it to live in a parallel universe governed by its own rules.

How long would it go on, though? It was a question Remus often tossed back and forth in his lonely hours, of which there were many. The way he saw it, there were two possibilities: either, the Muggle world would continue on its present course, becoming ever more rational, technocratic and logical, hence turning further away from anything metaphysical and driving the magical world ever more into the shadows; or the Muggle world might eventually stumble upon magic in a way that made ignoring it impossible, for instance through science, and it was anybody’s guess what would happen then. Certainly, Muggles today were more prepared than ever to embrace magic since they had lost it in their everyday lives. However, there was no critical mass yet. Fear of anything that didn’t fit the rules of logic and ‘normality’ was too strong, and denying it recommended itself as the most reasonable solution.

‘But as long as this goes on, the wizarding world can never be a peaceful one’, Remus thought while he watched a woman in a mac pushing a pram up the curb and balancing a huge umbrella in the process, ‘because it is denied one of its basic human needs: to go out and conquer the world.’ It was no use saying that it was better not to do that anyway, as it usually turned out destructive; there would always be a strong desire in any social group for freedom and doing as it pleased and not having to hide itself. He understood that the Statute of Secrecy was only an ill-fitting lid for a can squirming with worms. Any problems that might arise in the future would always be a result of this situation; always had been; and the way he saw it, it was happening right now.

Remus shook himself. Philosophical considerations were always a sure sign that he was getting maudlin. No wonder, perhaps, given the general state, but not to be indulged in, either. If he was going to become a misanthropist, it would not be a whiny one. At that moment, too – right on cue – he spotted a black-clad figure crossing the street below and walking through what had become quite a downpour at an even pace. The curious thing was that this person carried a black umbrella, but didn’t bother to open it. However, Remus Lupin guessed that it was only a hastily transfigured broom and he grinned to himself. So even Severus Snape made mistakes.

A few moments later, he heard noises downstairs that announced someone’s arrival. Voices, one of them silky, the other one a hoarse snarl – old Kreacher was still the unofficial master of the house and as charming as ever. Remus stepped out of the sitting room onto the landing. A crackling noise could be heard from downstairs. Remus knew well what it was – the sound of layers of dust rising from the floorboards, assembling into a bearded ghostly shape, accompanied by a low-pitched wail.

“Yeah, _kill_ yourself already!” the silky voice growled.

Remus chuckled. What an idea of Alastor Moody to install a dusty ghost to scare Snape! The man must have had a good laugh the first time he’d seen it. “Up here!” Lupin called out and peeked over the banister. A black-and-white face looked up, rendered mask-like by the eerie glow of the old chandelier in the hallway. It wore a very familiar sour expression.

“Couldn’t be bothered to put that thing away, could you?”

“Actually, it’s quite a good scarecrow”, Remus replied amiably.

Severus Snape scoffed and glided up the stairs, soundless, as if still the quiet spy that hid in dark corners and eavesdropped. He wore a look of arrogant curiosity which implied that Lupin might be wasting his time. He also had deep rings under his eyes.

“Long night?” Remus said instead of a ‘How do you do’, knowing that Snape wasn’t much into formalities, either.

“Two hours of sleep at most”, Snape responded lazily, and in fact, he appeared too tired even to come up with one of his usual snappy openers.

“Has the hearing upset you so much you found no rest?”

“No. Satyrs. Turned up at Hogwarts.”

“Merlin’s beard! Did anyone get hurt?”

Severus shook his head. “Fortunately not. But we had to search the Forbidden Forest after the incident, which took most of the night.”

“Found anything?”

“No more than the two creatures that Hagrid is presently guarding. Hopefully guarding, I should say.”

“Have the students been alerted?”

“Not just that. All morning, I had to guide all years and houses through an impromptu Defence Against Satyrs class. McGonagall insisted, said it couldn’t be put off any longer. By now, the tykes have probably forgotten every word I told them.” He sighed, pessimistic as ever where his students’ attention span was concerned.

Remus looked glum, as well, but in an entirely different manner. For a moment, he appeared lost in thought, but shook himself out of it quickly and led the way to the Black family’s sitting room while Snape followed at a lazy stroll. Inside, the latter positioned himself in front of the large fireplace, allowing his cloak and hair to dry, while Remus sat down on one of the nearest armchairs. He was never quite at ease in this place. It was steeped in the foul smell of old wizarding blood which sometimes became so oppressive it made him sick to the stomach. Severus, however, seemed impervious to it. He inspected a large clock on the mantelpiece – it had baby limbs for hands – and seemed no more than faintly curious. “I have to be back at Hogwarts in an hour”, he curtly informed Lupin, “so you better start telling me what this is about.”

Trust the guy to always put a certain pressure on a conversation. Of course, this was his way of taking over control. Remus was quite happy to ignore it.

“It’s pretty straightforward”, he said, “I wanted to inform you that I’ve handed in my notice at the Ministry.”

Snape cast a look of faint surprise over his shoulder. “You have?”

“Yes. Effective immediately. Kingsley tried to persuade me to stay, but I told him it was not negotiable.”

“Fascinating news”, Snape sneered. “Surely reason enough to rip me out of my day – and a very busy one, I might add – and have me meet you here, of all places.”

“The choice of location is quite appropriate, as you will see shortly”, Remus ensured him with a languid purr. “Won’t you ask about my motives for leaving the Ministry?”

“Do I have to?”

“I thought you wanted to get back to Hogwarts as soon as possible …”

Snape groaned. “Alright! Spare me the suspense and tell me already.”

A grin crossed Lupin’s face, but then he became serious and carefully steepled his fingers, elbows on his knees. “As you may know, I only accepted the ministerial post because I believed that I might help with the transition. You know, building a new future, helping with reconstruction. – However, lately I have been disappointed in that regard.”

“As frequently happens to idealists”, Snape commented.

“You may be right”, Remus admitted. “Perhaps I have been too optimistic. The truth is … there are mechanisms at work in the wizarding world at the moment that I do not like at all, which in fact I deeply distrust, but I’m doomed to watch on helplessly as things go in an entirely different direction from what I had hoped after the victory.”

“What do you mean precisely?”

“Actually, I had hoped that I wouldn’t have to explain, not to you, anyway. After all, you’re at the receiving end. That hearing they threw on you?”

“Since when have you become so invested in my problems?”

“Because I believe that they’re not exclusively your problems, but part of something bigger. – Have you read the _Prophet_ lately?”

“I read it every day.”

“Then you know what’s happening.” Lupin got up and started to rummage in his coat pockets. Snape’s eyebrows shot up as the other man produced a staple of newspaper clippings which he presented with an adamant shake. “I particularly like the top-most one: _The Victor writes History_. It’s a commentary on Harry’s version on the events during the Battle of Hogwarts, and an analysis on alleged ‘loop holes’ in the story. In short, the scandalmonger who wrote it claims that the Golden Trio have been lying or at least editing the truth. It also contains a few scathing comments on Dumbledore and his past. Look here: _Deconstructing Dumbledore_. They don’t even bother to sugar-coat it!”

“Parts of Dumbledore’s past _were_ questionable”, Snape said reasonably.

“Well, he isn’t alone in that regard, is he?” Remus shot a dark side glance at Severus. “The point I’m making is … there is a concentrated effort to distort the truth and to present it in a way that sheds a different light on everything that happened.”

Snape tilted his head thoughtfully. “Not quite unjustified, don’t you think? Where there’s light, there’s also darkness. And truth is a fickle thing, rather a matter of perspective.”

Remus chuckled derisively. “You’re camouflaging the personal with the philosophical, Severus. But remember, I am very well aware that you always resented Harry and will probably call this ‘come-uppance’ or something like that. Still projecting your petty jealousies onto him, are you?”

“That’s nonsense!” growled Severus. “I may not be the boy’s greatest fan, but I certainly do not doubt his story. After all, I more or less gave it to him …”

Lupin interrupted him with an impatient shake of his newspaper clippings. “Be that as it may. The articles are not the only example. There are other things going on, as well. What’s happening to you right now is part of it, and I don’t only mean the hearing. Hermione told me about the intrusion in your office and your house. There can be absolutely no doubt that some people are trying very hard right now to push you from your hero pedestal.”

Snape considered him, his face stony. He only spoke after a few seconds. “You appear to be harbouring the illusion that my current problems are a general phenomenon. However, I have been informed that this is not so. What’s happening to me _is_ personal. A conspiracy to punish me for my betrayal and to ruin my reputation.”

“Who told you that?” Remus asked with narrowed eyes.

“Just … someone”, Snape replied with a shrug which made it clear that he was not prepared to say more.

“Well, you may be wrong there”, Remus said. “I think that your difficulties are part of a bigger picture.”

“And what’s happening in that bigger picture?”

Remus took a deep breath. “I believe that the Ministry is being undercut – as we speak – by an elite that is both elusive and determined to seize power in the wizarding world.” Snape digested this with a look of ill-disguised doubt, but said nothing, so Remus went on. “In recent weeks, I have done some research. To be honest, I started shortly after I met this Crowley guy. – Aeneas Crowley, that’s the one who took the minutes at your hearing. – The thing I kept asking myself was how a man who was an absolute nobody in the wizarding world until a short while ago could make it into the Ministry _and_ into the Wizengamot within such a short time?”

“Brought in and championed by powerful friends”, Snape replied, revealing that he, too, had done his homework on the man. “Isn’t that the usual way of getting in? Especially right now with such a blatant lack of wizarding power I bet they took him gladly.”

“That’s only partly true”, Remus explained. “You may be right that getting into the Ministry in the first place is not that difficult. But making a career there, and within as short a time as Crowley did, is certainly unusual.”

“I hear he has money.”

“Yeah. Shitloads of it. – The funny thing is that I can’t figure out how he got it.”

A gleam of interest appeared in Snape’s eyes. “Is that important?”

“It is, considering the fact that he comes from a very humble background and had hardly any dosh to finance his studies of Magical Law with – which, by the way, he broke off to go into some half-assed business with his uncle.”

“Successful business?”

“Not particularly. Importing magical artefacts from the Continent and America … I doubt there’s a lot in it. – No, things started to look up for Aeneas Crowley only after he got married …”

“There you have it. He married money. Isn’t his wife the daughter of some wealthy man?”

“Barnabas Cuffe, to be precise, the owner and editor-in-chief of the _Daily_ _Prophet_. – It’s true, Cuffe is wealthy. But not so rich to justify the Crowley’s lifestyle which is nothing short of splendid. They have property in Diagon Alley, a huge manor in Devon, a hunting lodge somewhere in Scotland, a palazzo in Venice …”

“The estate of pure-blood families is often considerable”, Snape broke in, “you know that as well as I do.”

“There was no inheritance”, Remus insisted. “Like I said, Crowley’s background is quite humble and the Cuffes got their wealth exclusively through the proceeds from the _Prophet_. As far as I was able to find out, the Crowleys acquired all this stuff only after they married. Plus, in the months since the war they put huge sums into charitable projects. Had orphanages built for children who lost their parents. Made huge donations to St. Mungo’s and other healing institutions. Took care of stranded house-elves. They’re constantly in the papers with one good deed or another, and courtesy to Cuffe and the _Prophet_ they’re making themselves into the prime sponsors of the wizarding world!”

“Which is not a crime”, Snape said reasonably, but the fascinated gleam in his eyes had deepened, “in fact, I daresay that a lot of people are bound to be grateful.”

“Which is exactly the point! They are _buying_ popularity and support. One might think that this cannot ordinarily be done. But in times as these, with reconstruction going on, the Crowleys’ generosity is like water on dried-out ground. There’s not a small number of people who already see them as our most significant benefactors and, in fact, as something close to saints.”

“That’s the way people are. Easily manipulated, especially when money’s involved.”

“Yes, that’s the way people are. And right now, they are weak and looking for guidance. Dumbledore’s gone. So is Voldemort. The wizarding world has lost two father figures, which leaves a void that, in my mind, the Crowleys are set on filling. They are after power.”

“In our world, power is not only about money”, Snape remarked, “magic weighs in the balance, as well.”

“But surely you agree that money can _buy_ magic up to a point?”

“Up to a point”, Snape admitted. “Where are you going with all this, anyway? Are you suggesting that the Crowleys are behind my … current problems?”

“Not unlikely. Did I mention that they are thick as thieves with the Periwinkles?”

“Meaning that they might somehow fuel old Periwinkle’s zeal? – Honestly, I believe that exists quite by itself.”

“Maybe, but don’t forget that the Crowleys have the resources and the connections to rake up as much muck as they please. Personally, I believe that they might be behind a lot of funny things that are happening in our world right now. You already mentioned the satyrs, for instance.”

“The satyrs?!” Snape had followed Lupin’s words with an expression of increasing doubt, but now he glared at him. “What do the Crowleys have to do with a random satyr infestation?”

“But was it random?” When Remus looked hard at Severus, there was a feverish gleam in his eyes. He felt it himself, and he also felt Snape’s distrust. ‘He thinks I’m getting obsessed’, he realized and forced himself to breathe evenly, not to get caught up in his embarrassment. “Just let me say this”, he went on and in spite of himself, his voice sounded bitter, “I predict that the satyr problem is going to become worse. There will be attacks, probably all over Britain. Painful for everyone, because these creatures go after our young. As a result, there will be a lot of discussion, wailing and complicated strategies put forward on how to deal with it. – But mark my words: there will come a point – probably at the height of despair – when a solution will magically appear. And I’m betting you that this solution will be presented by none other than the Crowleys!”

He had expected Severus to sneer or make a scathing remark, but he only glared at Lupin, his heavy brows knit. With a start, Remus realized that he didn’t quite know what to say.

“Look, I may be wrong”, he admitted, “maybe I’ve fallen in love with my theory too much. As you may know, loneliness can give you funny ideas.” He smiled sadly, looked down at his scratched shoes. “Also, I’m not quite sure how your situation fits into it. But you heard it now, and maybe you will find that I’m right.”

Snape considered him for a long time. He had recovered his composure and was back to amused arrogance. “So you called me here to tell me that you quit your job with the Ministry to play at private eye from now on? Needed some tips form a tried and tested spy, didn’t you?”

“You _can_ be quite an asshole sometimes”, Remus said calmly.

But Snape shrugged it off.

“What I really wanted was to make a suggestion”, Remus went on. “One that might interest you.”

“I’m holding my breath”, Severus said and sounded very bored.

“I am proposing to re-open the Order of the Phoenix.”

The reply was a few moments’ silence and then a harsh laugh. “Re-open the Order of the Phoenix?? Certainly not!”

“You’re the last person I would have expected that kind of answer from.”

“Really?” Severus sneered. “Then you appear to harbour illusions about me, because I have no wish to return to old … _structures_.”

“Not even now? When there are obviously people out to get you for your past sins?”

“What would re-opening the Order do to change that?”

“It would give us more range to investigate who’s behind it.”

“I know who’s behind it. Periwinkle. A bunch of pissed-off Death Eaters. – No, Lupin, this is obviously all about you! You’re having this idea about the Crowleys and the Order would provide you with more means to look into your …” Snape broke off and quite uncharacteristically shut his mouth.

“Why suddenly so polite, Severus? Why don’t you say it out loud? My ‘obsession’!”

“If you insist”, Snape replied coolly.

“And even if it is!” Remus argued fiercely. “Someone has to look into all this! There is obviously something fishy about the Crowleys and the Ministry is turning a blind eye to it. That’s not the kind of institution that I would like to work for. However, if I go alone, I’d rather have the Order of the Phoenix in my back.”

“May I point out that there is hardly any money in it? You have to keep yourself somehow, don’t you? The Order of the Phoenix never kept a payroll …”

Remus sighed. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that, too. Maybe I could go back to tutoring.” His face brightened suddenly. “I could give Elena lessons. You can’t do that all on your own when you’re at Hogwarts, can you?”

Snape chuckled sarcastically. “Elena is as poor as a church mouse, in the Muggle world, but even more so in the wizarding world. She’ll hardly keep you in food and clothes.” He turned once more to the window and peered through the curtains. “The idea is not entirely bad, though.” He cleared his throat and mumbled, “I’d pay you for it.”

Remus shot an amused side glance at him. “Duly noted”, he purred.

Severus twitched. “What does Kingsley Shacklebolt think about your scheme?”

“I didn’t tell him. And he mustn’t know.” When Snape once more turned a surprised face to him, Remus went on hurriedly. “I’m serious. Kingsley is too involved with the Ministry, he has to keep his priorities straight. And of course, if we do this, we have to do it secretly.”

“The existence of the Order of the Phoenix has long ago ceased to be a secret.”

“Ah, but officially it’s defunct. There was an agreement after the war that it had served its purpose and was no longer necessary. The Ministry was never too pleased with it, anyway. Our government doesn’t support quasi-law-enforcing arrangements, especially in so-called peace times. They’d consider it vigilantism.”

“ _Vig… What_??”

“Muggle term for people who take it upon themselves to judge and punish. – This is why we cannot officially reinstall the Order. This is also why you are the first person I’m talking to about it.”

Another ironic eyebrow went up. “What, am I supposed to feel honoured?”

“Of course not, you’re far too fastidious for that.” Remus voice, too, was laden with sarcasm. “The reason why I’m asking you first is because you and I are the last ones of our Order peers still standing. The remnants of the Lost Generation.”

Snape digested this, but didn’t comment.

“I would also like to remind you”, Remus went on, “that the Order will provide its members – and hence you, as well, should you make up your mind to join – with certain privileges. Protection, for instance. A place to hide. Not quite irrelevant, given your latest … problems.”

Their eyes locked. There was a hippogriff in the room, one by the name of Lawrence McKinnon. Remus knew it, and he sensed that Snape thought about it, too. In fact, the werewolf would have very much liked to comment on Snape’s admission of murder during the hearing, which had upset him. He had fancied Marlene McKinnon as a student and forged a friendship with her brother. The fact that Larry’s murderer was now standing in front of him was hard to ignore. However, Remus saw how sharing his feelings on that would not help his present purpose.

“Like I’ve said numerous times, I’d prefer to look after myself and so far this has always worked very well”, Snape said haughtily, probably sensing the hippogriff, as well, and retreating behind arrogance for self-protection.

“That’s nonsense, Severus!” Lupin hissed sharply. “Where would you be today without Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix?”

For a few seconds, Snape did not reply. Then he sighed. “Dead, probably. As I should be, in all truth.”

“Come off it! I don’t believe a word you say!”

Snape saw Lupin’s bitter and knowing grin and shot him a dark look before staring out of the window again.

“What’s so interesting out there, anyway?” Remus asked, picking up on a tension in the other man.

However, Snape continued to stare outside for a few more seconds, then turned away. “Nothing”, he said with his most impassive face.

“You’re sure?”

“Never mind”, replied Snape and it sounded final. “Let’s talk about your scheme a little more. Who would you have in the Order? It’s original cast has quite thinned out …”

“So you _are_ interested?”

“I’m talking hypothetically.”

Remus supressed a chuckle. “Well, I was thinking of the usual suspects. The Golden Trio, of course …”

“Of course”, sighed Snape.

“The Weasleys. Minerva McGonagall. Anyone from the original members who are still alive and dedicated, although I’d pass over Mundungus Fletcher who’d have difficulties with the secrecy aspect …”

Snape cast up his eyes and murmured “Thank God …”

“But we need new members. People who like the new developments as little as we do, who are trustworthy and well-connected …”

“Take your pick!” Snape’s scoff was dry and harsh.

“What about Nell Nolan, for instance?”

Severus looked surprised and doubtful at equal measures.

“She provided valuable information to the Order during the war”, Remus explained. “Dumbledore knew her well. And because she has suffered a lot, I’m pretty sure that she is wary about the recent course and would be prepared to take an active interest.”

He looked challengingly at Snape who stood unmoving and eventually gave an almost imperceptible nod of assent. “Who else?”

Remus, too, took his time. “Eddie Hincks”, he suggested.

“No bloody way!” cried Snape. “There are too many giddy Gryffindors already. I prefer to keep my breakfast in!”

“Make a suggestion then”, Remus said gruffly.

Snape grinned crookedly. “What about Draco Malfoy?”

“No bloody way!” cried Remus. “A known Death Eater?”

“Like me.”

“That’s different. Draco hasn’t redeemed himself, not in my eyes. Plus, the Golden Trio would find it difficult to keep their breakfast in.”

“ _I_ vouch for him”, Snape said, “and certainly the Golden Trio, too, must find a way of dealing with past resentments?”

“They’re doing it every day”, Remus growled. “Do you?”

Snape acted as if he hadn’t heard. “Here’s the deal”, he stated, “if Draco can’t get into it, Hincks can’t, either. If you and I are supposed to be the new founding members, we should have an equal vote.”

Again, Remus supressed a smile. He realized that Snape wasn’t as averse to the re-opening of the Order as he tried to make Lupin believe. He would hardly have spoken of himself as a ‘new founding member’ if it had been different. But as always, Severus Snape’s first response to any kind of suggestion was a sneering ‘No’. Remus resolved to test it further. “How about Elena, then?” he suggested.

“Certainly not!” A very deep line had appeared on Severus’ forehead. “What are you thinking? She hardly deserves the title ‘witch’ yet, she cannot take a Blasting jinx without loosing her wand, and even when it comes to essentials, she is quite …”

“Nonsense!” Remus broke in. “She saved your life, Severus. Twice!”

“She was lucky.”

“She was also very brave and resourceful.”

But Snape shook his head fiercely. “I do not want her to have any part in such schemes. It is too dangerous! An Order member is required to put his or her life on the line if need be. It would be unfair to ask that of her!”

However, Lupin was not prepared to let this one go. “Of course, we wouldn’t send her on a perilous mission just yet! However, she has a lot going for herself, apart from being involved already by her association to you. Most of all, she blends wonderfully into the Muggle world as hardly anyone of us can, not even Hermione. This might be important.”

“Important how?”

Remus didn’t answer at once, but swayed his head from side to side. “There’s a lead I’m following right now … concerning Crowley’s money.”

“A lead?”

“A lead into the Muggle world. – Look, I wasn’t planning on telling you just yet, because I’m not certain. But I have a suspicion that the Crowleys’ money comes, to some extents, from deals with the Muggle world. In fact, I believe that he might be selling magic …”

“But that’s illegal!”

“Oh, really?” Lupin’s sardonic face made Severus twitch with chagrin at the obviousness of his remark. “Well, if we can prove it, the guy is finished!”

Snape twitched uncomfortably. “Maybe. But I don’t want Elena involved.”

Remus sighed. “She is a grown-up, Severus. She can – and will – decide for herself.”

“Don’t I know it”, the other man scoffed.

Lupin smiled vaguely. “You know, there is a wild theory going round …”

Snape raised his head sharply.

“It’s more of a running gag, really”, Lupin went on, his eyes dancing, “claiming that you have put Elena Horwath under an _Imperius_ to make her do as you please …” He knew very well that it would probably make Snape flare, but he couldn’t resist. As it was, however, he was surprised, because the black-clad wizard only stared at him blankly.

“She _never_ does as I please”, he said after a few seconds and there was a marked sigh of resignation in his voice.

“And yet”, Lupin said slyly, “just this morning a young Ministry official complained to me that for all he knows you might have given her quite a strong love potion.”

Now the black eyes became wide. ‘Here comes’, thought Remus, ‘he’s going to explode’. But nothing happened. Instead, Snape’s face softened and the corners of his mouth jumped. When he spoke, it was in his silkiest of purrs. “I have long ago ceased to comment on people’s random opinions about me.” He turned his face to the window again and there was an expression on it that Remus found difficult to place. Sly and smug, but also thoughtful and somehow … serene? Of course, Severus and serenity were antitheses. However, the fact that these two terms coincided in this very short and fleeting moment registered with Remus Lupin, and he wondered. He remembered the night when he had been called by Harry to the lighthouse on a rescue mission, and how Severus had fussed over an unconscious Elena. Not fussed, really. Severus Snape didn’t fuss. He’d been irritable, bossy, set on counselling St. Mungo’s healers who’d rolled their eyes behind his back. In short, he’d been worried to the point of despair. Had anything happened between those two? Remus’ fine lupine instincts told him that something had changed, and he could even see it in the way Snape held himself, yes, in fact it was visible in the way he walked and moved, a litheness that hadn’t been there before, and Remus found himself thinking – with a certain amount of mirth – ‘Gee, Elena, what have you done with him?’. He didn’t find it difficult to guess at the answer. And if he was right, it explained quite a lot.

“We don’t have to decide on members yet”, he said matter-of-factly. “At first, we should first decide whether to open the Order of the Phoenix at all …”

“And where”, Snape interjected. “Certainly, this address has been compromised.”

“Yes. Yaxley.”

“Has he been found, by the way?”

“Nope. He’s still on the loose. And from the way we haven’t received any tips on him for quite a long time now, I am guessing that he has left the country.”

“Very likely. He might have passed on his knowledge, though. Which means that we cannot use this place as headquarters.”

“I disagree. – Since officially the Order of the Phoenix will not exist, it doesn’t matter where we meet. This is a private house owned by Harry Potter. He can invite anyone he likes. – Also, I’m quite sure you could put a number of new spells on the place? After all, you made a fortress out of your own home.”

“I might have an idea or two”, murmured Snape, almost dreamily. Then, suddenly, he shook himself and said, “Leshnikov.”

“What about him?”

“I was meaning to ask _you_ that. More than two weeks ago, I filed a report with the Ministry of Magical Law Enforcement detailing how Leshnikov was on the warpath against me for weeks and months, how he had two thugs commissioned to kill me and eventually kidnapped my student to get to me. – I have never heard back. Was I under an illusion assuming that it was the Ministry’s job to investigate the matter?”

“They tried”, Remus assured him. “Granted, they might have tried harder, but … it was a frustrating mission. Volodimir Leshnikov might as well have been a ghost.”

“I assure you, he wasn’t a ghost!”

“Yes. The Ministry has yours and Elena’s testimony for that.”

Snape glared, then narrowed his eyes. “Oh, I understand! No one but Elena and me has seen him. She being a little magical ingénue, and me … well, being me.”

Remus sighed. However, softening blows for Severus Snape was useless. “No one has ever heard of Leshnikov. No one has ever met him. His base could not be found. To some people, your past is like a snake pit where anything could come up. And Elena …”

“Yes, yes, she’s being _Imperio’_ d by me. She’d say anything I tell her.” Snape scoffed bitterly. “I should be so lucky …”

“We could put that on the priority list of the new Order of the Phoenix”, Remus suggested gently. “I’m sure Arthur Weasley could make some headway there. Anyway, all the occurrences that we think do not get proper treatment by the Ministry we could …”

“I get it, I do”, Snape interrupted impatiently.

“Do you also get how important it might be that we re-open the Order of the Phoenix?”

Again, Lupin expected a scathing reply. It would have been characteristic. However, Severus merely said a hasty “I’m beginning to” and made it clear that his final decision on the matter had not yet been taken. He was far to invested by now, anyway, into staring out of the window and Lupin sensed that inwardly Snape had already left this sitting room and Grimmauld Place.

They bade each other good-bye shortly afterwards, with promises of getting in touch and letting each other know about their respective findings and decisions. The manner in which they parted was almost companionable. Certainly, they had never had much time for each other, but the past they had lived through and their cooperation for the very institution they were now thinking about reinstalling had given them a connection, a common purpose and a possibility. Remus Lupin, in any case, left no. 12 Grimmauld Place with a feeling of tentative optimism. After all, having Severus Snape as a possible ally was not half bad …

 

* * *

 

A few minutes later, Severus walked away from Grimmauld Place with long determined strides. The rain was again no more than a drizzle and darkness had started to fall, but he was almost oblivious to his surroundings, although moving in the Muggle world usually made him feel on edge. Now, he hardly noticed the dirty looks his out-worldly appearance, his fluttering cloak and long greasy hair earned him. In his mind, he went over the details of the conversation he’d just had.

Re-open the Order of the Phoenix … He hadn’t let it on to Lupin – he hated to give away his thoughts too soon – but the idea intrigued him. He saw the opportunities such a measure might provide. Also, he grudgingly acknowledged the need for it. If only half of what Lupin had told him today was true, it would certainly not hurt to install a structure independent from the Ministry of Magical Law Enforcement to ensure that the wizarding world – weak and confused as its present state was – would not again be usurped by malignant forces. He saw the self-righteousness in it, as well; after all, who were they to decide what was good for their magical peers? Yet again, didn’t they who had been at the front line of the last conflict have a certain right to decide just that, and fight against their version being edited and falsified?

Plus, there was another argument that Snape found difficult to disregard. A powerful wizard needed associates, to have a wider range of action, to learn and to further his abilities. Albus Dumbledore wouldn’t have been quite as powerful without the Order backing him up. After all, power was still a strong incentive for Severus Snape. He knew very well that his past attempts at it had been too impetuous and hence doomed to fail. At the same time, he still wanted it. A new, albeit clandestine, Order of the Phoenix might help him to go about it in the right way. Walking along the pavement, he mused on all this, and with every step, Lupin’s proposal started to look brighter.

Suddenly, Severus stopped in his tracks. He found himself standing at a crossing. Cars honked, raced by. Traffic lights switched from green to yellow to red, and back again. People under umbrellas hurried back and forth and he stood there, in the drizzle, the back of his neck itching. Carefully, he glanced over his shoulders. Nothing. Had he been mistaken?

He walked on, but his attention was now on the uneasy feeling of being watched. He’d had it before, in fact ever since the moment he had Disapparated from Hogwarts today. He remembered what a snotty young Ministry official had told him, that these days ‘there were sure means of ascertaining a man’s whereabouts at any time’. What had it meant? Watch wards, it occurred to him. However, those were only a means of ensuring that a witch or wizard complied with certain restrictions. They didn’t account for the feeling he had now, as if someone was constantly on his heels, as if an observing shadow had tagged itself to him …

Snape had an idea. There was a church nearby and he quickly checked the clock. He still had time for another call, and it wasn’t far, either, just a fifteen minutes’ walk due south … His pace picked up speed and he walked on, ever aware of the itch in his back. It didn’t go away, followed him at every turn.

Since there was nothing to be done about it at the moment, Severus allowed his mind to roam. It invariably brought him to Elena. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about her too much, partly because he was afraid that the feeling of elation he’d had since the previous evening would be buried beneath fears and doubts that invariably took over once he started to analyse and rationalize his feelings. He wanted to keep all that away a little bit longer.

And so he concentrated on the image he had of her in his mind, sitting on the other side of that table in the Hog’s Head, smiling, eyes wide and open. He mused on how, when she was with him, she was always completely and utterly ‘there’ and how this was an entirely new experience to him. He pondered on how good it had felt to talk to her, and the thought made him feel queasy. It was addictive, and he knew he had to watch it. He hated any kind dependence because it made him vulnerable and limited his freedom. Yet, he found resisting it increasingly difficult.

He sighed, twitched, walked on. Not far now. He had to concentrate on the conversation he was about to have in a few minutes. There might be some persuasion to be done, and subtly. Meticulously, Severus went through the details of what he was going to say.

All the same, his thoughts returned to Elena at the slightest occasion. He saw her large forest-green eyes at every turn. And he wondered what she was up to right now …

 


	11. A Witch Lady

**A Witch Lady**

 

Unbeknownst to Severus Snape, Elena Horwath was not so far away. She was sitting in a little café off Diagon Alley, a tiny basement place with the telling name ‘Persephone’s Den’, facing Cassandra Cleary over a rickety table and a steaming cup of cappuccino, and a good one, too, fancy that. They had been sitting there for the best part of an hour, chatting easily and naturally. Elena felt warm and cosy, although everything in this quiet little haven appeared crooked and dusty with formidable spider webs forming in the corners, but lately she was getting used to dodgy wizarding places and found that she liked them. She also found that she liked Cassie Cleary and wondered whether she might have found a new friend. Elena hardly dared to think about this because she didn’t make friends easily and besides, she needed one too much right now and in her experience needing anything too much usually ensured that you didn’t get it. Yet, talking to Cassie was easy. It also calmed her down.

They had got together for tea only the other day, after the hearing, and it had turned out to be a nice surprise. They could have gone on nattering all day. However, at some point Elena had gotten restless, anticipating an encounter with Severus as soon as she got home. Where Cassie was concerned, it had been Elena’s intention to let off for a few days to not scare her new acquaintance away with too much eagerness. However, by this morning she had once again become restless. The reason was, of course, the previous evening with her … what, actually? teacher? lover? friend? The first category was safe enough, however, with regard to the others, she was confused. As elated as she had felt when she’d gotten home last night – her ears still filled with his silky voice, her eyes drunk by the sight of him – the morning had coldly presented her with the fact that she still didn’t know where she was with him. She might have broken some patterns, but where had it got her?

From the moment she’d gotten out of bed, taken a lukewarm shower and prepared a breakfast basically consisting of a big pot of coffee, she had not been able to resist going over every tiny detail of the encounter. Something about her needed this analysing and ordering of facts. In that way, maybe, she was a little like him who was probably the master of achieving emotional distance by rationalization. The problem was that too much pondering killed her gut feeling and left her confused, hence restless.

So she had needed something – or someone – to take her mind off. She had considered a training session at the dancing school, but hadn’t been able to reach Micah. Apart from that, physical exertion and another guy constantly telling her what to do were not what she needed right now. What she needed was a person to feel good with. – After battling with herself for the most part of the morning, she had eventually sent Cassie an owl. The reply had come within an hour.

Before Disapparating from her home to meet Cassie, however, Elena had had second thoughts. Restless or not, she could hardly tell her new acquaintance about Severus and their … what? affair? friendship? or – she dared hardly think it – _relationship_? She knew that Cassie had been a Hogwarts student, so she’d very probably had him as a teacher. That alone made it impossible for Elena to pour out her heart.

As it turned out, however, she needn’t have worried. The things she and Cassie talked about were completely innocent. They told each other about their lives, how they had grown up, about their education, and since they came from completely different worlds there was quite a lot of explaining involved. Cassie who came from an all-wizarding family appeared particularly interested in the Muggle school system and wanted to know how higher education worked. She also asked a lot about books Elena had read and movies she had seen. In return, Elena learnt about the other witch’s family who was living in Ireland, and about her brother who, since the end of the war, was trying to establish a shop on Diagon Alley.

“It’s a potions shop”, Cassie Cleary explained. “My family has one in Dublin – had it for generations, actually – and its always been Castor’s dream to give us a base in London, as well. But its hard. The shopkeepers here are a closed guild, particularly the potioneers, they hate to let newbies in. It will take time. Anyway, we have the better products.”

“And what is it that _you_ do exactly?” Elena asked, stirring her cappuccino.

“I’m a herbologist”, Cassie explained, “what I do basically is go out with my sister-in-law, find new spots to pick plants and herbs, harvest them when the time’s right and prepare them for sale. It’s mostly an outdoor job, which I really love. My brother does the indoors stuff, cooking the potions, precursors and all that.”

Elena smiled crookedly. “I was told that you must never call it ‘cooking’.”

Cassie laughed. “Yeah, I know, my nana doesn’t like that, either ...”

“And is it your thing? Doing what you do?”

“Absolutely! It sounds nerdy, but I totally love my job. Alright, sometimes I have to work odd hours because some plants can only be harvested at midnight, others must be cut at the crack of dawn, and similar rules apply to preparing. I’m used to it, though. Also, Herbology and Potions have always been my favourite subjects at Hogwarts, so I’m doing what I really like doing – how many people can say that about their jobs? – I only wish things were a little easier for Castor. It’s quite a struggle.”

“I can imagine”, Elena said, “from where I’m standing, most wizards appear quite conservative. They probably use the same shops that their grandparents used to go to.”

“That’s exactly the problem!” Cassie Cleary had lively dark-brown eyes that always went with what she said - widened, creased, danced and glittered. “Even if they can’t but acknowledge that another’s product is better, they will still stick with their old shops!”

Elena mused that Severus Snape, for once, almost certainly fell into that category. And since he had so conveniently popped up in her mind, she couldn’t resist asking, “So I take it that Professor Snape taught you Potions at Hogwarts?”

“Sure. Seven years, right up to my N.E.W.T.s.”

Elena frowned. “Did he bully you, too?”

Cassie Cleary’s laugh was infectious. “I’m sure he would have, if I’d given him any reason.”

“Which you didn’t?”

“Like I said, I come from a family of potioneers. I’ve skinned shrivel figs ever since I was five. In other words, I’m really good at it.”

“So he couldn’t find fault?”

Cassie shook her head mirthfully. “Not much, anyway. Also, I was in Ravenclaw. Snape hates Gryffindors and he looks down on Hufflepuffs. Ravenclaws he grudgingly accepts because they’re supposed to be bright.” Again, she laughed. “Though I can tell you – there are quite a lot of dumbasses in Ravenclaw, as well.”

Elena grinned with her. She was relieved. Another anecdote on Snape The Bully would have been the last thing she needed right now. “I rather suck at potions”, she intimated. “The Professor gave up teaching me after I made one of his cauldrons explode.”

Cassie Cleary’s eyes became very wide, her mouth opened and she gasped. In the next moment, another avalanche of laughter erupted from somewhere deep down in her chest and made heads turn at the other tables. Again, Elena couldn’t help grinning. She thought about how she usually hated people who giggled and laughed at every turn, but with Cassie it came so naturally you just had to like it. Plus, her laughter sounded like music or like the enchanting chatter of a brook. ‘If I was a man’, Elena thought, ‘I’d probably fall head over heels in love with her.’

“What’s your thing, then?” Cassie asked after she had calmed down.

“I don’t really know yet”, Elena admitted, “after all, I only started about five or six months ago, so in a way I still get excited every time a spell really works. – I’m quite good at Transfiguration, though. Comes natural, somehow. One day, I’m going to do the Animagus exam.”

“Good for you! That’s one subject I’m absolutely no good at. – But hey, listen, there is one thing I was going to ask you …”

“Yeah?” When Elena looked up, there was a peculiar dreamy expression on Cassie’s face.

“When a Muggle guy asks you ‘beetles or stones?’ – what the hell does he mean??”

Now it was Elena’s turn to laugh.

“Is that a _very_ stupid question?” Cassie gazed at her opposite adamantly.

“From a Muggle point of view – yeah, a little.”

Cassie sighed. “Thought so. – What _does_ it mean?”

“It means whether you are a fan of The Beatles rather than of the Rolling Stones.”

“I like beetles as long as they don’t chew up a herb I want, and I couldn’t care less for stones rolling down a hill …”

Elena laughed so hard her midriff started to hurt. “They’re … bands”, she hiccupped, “music … pop … rock …”

Cassie’s mouth formed a charming little O. “So he was talking about music?!”

“Who?”

Cassie’s face changed. She suddenly looked a little coy and the colour rose to her fleshy cheeks. “Kieran.”

“Who’s Kieran?”

Cassie let out a deep sigh, but the smile had returned to her mouth. “You see – Janie, my sister in law, is a Muggle-born. She has some Muggle friends from when she grew up. Not all of them know what she is, but some do. And through these people, I met … someone.”

Cassie’s blush deepened and Elena scrutinized her curiously. “A Muggle guy?”

Cassie nodded. By now, she was definitely glowing.

“You fell in love with a Muggle guy?”

“I like him very, _very_ much”, Cassie admitted.

Elena was intrigued and also thrilled that they were on to Cassie’s love life now and not to hers. “Does he know what you are?” she asked.

“I think he guesses, though I didn’t tell him in so many words. As you know, we’re not supposed to …”

“Yeah, I get it, Statute of Secrecy and all that. Yet, it happens all the time that some Muggle or other finds out. My aunt knows, too, though she doesn’t really want to know too much about it.”

“It’s a touchy area”, Cassie said. “But this guy … Kieran”, she pronounced the name like an enchanted word, “he’s really bright … he knows something’s up with me …”

“Does it often happen?” Elena asked. “Witches or wizards getting together with Muggles? I mean, complete Muggles, not just Muggle-borns …”

“It happens. However, it’s difficult. Difficult for the Muggles, mostly, because at some point in a relationship they are bound to feel at a disadvantage. It’s understandable, isn’t it? At first you’re in love and everything’s hunky-dory. Then you have your first serious row and suddenly realize that your partner has a natural advantage, that they could turn you into a cockroach if they so pleased … must be scary, I totally get that.” A sad shadow crossed her otherwise so mirthful pretty face. A few seconds passed. “You see, my parents, my family, they have nothing against Muggles. They always taught us respect and to tread lightly. However, we were also told that a relationship or marriage with a Muggle would be very difficult and that we’d better stay away from it. All my life, I’ve been thinking that it was reasonable advice … but now …”

“Now you’re in love.”

“Yes. And you know what? I don’t know a first thing about Muggles! They talk about beetles and stones, and I don’t know what they mean! I wish I had chosen Muggle Studies at Hogwarts …”

“There’s a subject called _Muggle Studies_??”

“Yeah, and they had a really good teacher! She’s dead now, unfortunately; You-Know-Who killed her. – Anyway, at the time I thought that Arithmancy would serve me better, but in fact I never needed that …”

“You know”, Elena remarked casually, “how ever good that Muggle Studies teacher may have been … I’m pretty sure I’m better.”

A broad Cheshire cat smile spread on Cassie’s face. “I was kinda hoping you’d say that …”

“Oh, so it’s all about my _Muggle-ness_ , isn’t it?”

“Get outta here!”

Another round of laughter followed before they calmed down.

“So what about a crash course in Muggles?” Elena suggested. “With an emphasis on the contemporary, I’d say, music, movies, lifestyle and all that.”

“Sounds great. – And in exchange, I could prep you on Herbology and Potions. Maybe you need a woman’s touch in that regard?”

“Any touch that doesn’t involve yelling and scathing comments will do nicely”, Elena murmured darkly.

“I’m more of an eye-scratcher myself”, Cassie said, dead-pan, “so don’t worry. – Are we having a deal?”

“Let’s set up a contract and sign it in blood!”

“Now you’re exaggerating …”

They went on pretty much in the same vein, talked, giggled and laughed. Elena felt relaxed, and although thoughts of Severus popped up every now and then, she was largely kept from entering the mad carrousel of her mind. In fact, in Cassie Cleary’s presence she didn’t feel at all embarrassed about her confession of love – which, in fact, had pained her very much after waking up this morning – maybe because she sensed that her new friend would have done the same thing in her place. And it wasn’t so bad what she had done, was it? At least, now he knew and although he had been evasive, hiding behind his ‘difficult position’, he had also promised not to play with her. What was more important, he hadn’t outright rejected her, either. In fact, now that she thought back to the previous evening, it seemed to her that his good mood after talking in the Hog’s Head and while practicing fighting spell might have had something to do with said confession. Also, she remembered those moments when their eyes had locked and locked so hard that it had been difficult to break the contact. Was she completely wrong, assuming that he cared for her, maybe even more than he would admit? – In any case, Elena was glad that Cassie didn’t steer the conversation in the direction of Snape. In fact, it was Elena’s impression that she avoided the subject, or rather let Elena take the lead with regard to that. Of course, she knew that Snape was her teacher. She might even know a little more, given that she was part of the gang that Eddie Hincks hung out with. The fact that she didn’t bother Elena with any questions in that regard showed that Cassie Cleary was not only easy-going, but also quite sensitive.

They were still chatting when suddenly Elena realized that Cassie was staring over her shoulder. There was a wary look on her face and Elena turned around.

Standing behind her was a small stringy figure. A man with black, elegantly combed hair and a groomed black moustache. He wore very well cut Victorian-style clothes and a wide cloak. The face was familiar.

“Miss Horwath”, he said in a low voice that had a peculiar pitch, “do you remember me? We have met recently.”

Elena got up hastily. “Yes, I remember. Mr McVey.”

Finn McVey gave a wan little smile. Although Elena wasn’t tall, he had to squint upwards to meet her gaze. As before, she noticed long fingers that were a little gnarled. “I’m glad I found you here”, he said smoothly, “I called at your house, but you were out.”

“Is this about the interview? Do you have more questions?” For some reason, Elena felt suddenly nervous. “Oh, and by the way, this is my friend, Cassie Cleary.”

McVey did a formal bow in Cassie’s direction. “It’s a pleasure, Miss Cleary. I know your grandmother Medea. Formidable woman.”

“Yeah”, breathed Cassie with a good-natured scoff, but the way she scrutinized McVey was suspicious. Elena understood why. The man behaved very formally and smoothly, but maybe a little too much of it so that there was a constant undertone of irony. He turned his attention back on Elena.

“Don’t worry, Miss Horwath, this has nothing to do with Ministry investigations”, Finn McVey assured her amiably, “in fact I hate to break up your get-together with your friend. – However, I’ve been sent to deliver a message to you.”

“A message?”

“A message and an invitation.”

Elena looked back and forth between McVey and Cassie uncertainly. “By who?”

“Madam Magrathea Crowley requests your presence at her country house”, McVey explained, “there’s a carriage waiting outside to bring you there.”

Elena stared. “A carriage? I’m to get into a carriage to see a woman with a name right out of the _Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy_??” Two confused pairs of eyes glared at her. “Oh, never mind”, she mumbled, “it’s just … I don’t know this Madam Crowley. Why should I go and visit someone I have never met?”

Finn McVey assessed her from head to toe. “I can assure you, Miss Horwath, that Madam Crowley is very honourable.”

“So were Cassius and Brutus”, Elena murmured darkly. One of her first lessons on entering the magical world had been to always be careful and not to trust anyone too soon. After all, anything could happen in this sphere.

To her surprise, Cassie piped up. “Actually, Magrathea Crowley is quite well known. She’s in the papers all the time, doing a lot of charity.” Her dark-brown eyes pointedly surveyed McVey. “If she is really inviting you, I think it’s quite safe to go.”

Again, McVey bowed formally to her. “Thank you for the vote of confidence, Miss Cleary. – And of course, if it makes Miss Horwath feel better you can come, as well. I’m sure Madam Crowley would be delighted.”

Elena gazed at Cassie and her look said ‘Please!’ Cassie nodded quickly and got up from the table. McVey smiled in a satisfied manner, gallantly insisted on paying for the two witches’ tea and then took the lead out of ‘Persephone’s Den’.

Strolling after him, Cassie touched Elena’s elbow. “What do you think Magrathea Crowley wants from you?” she whispered.

“I have absolutely no clue”, Elena replied honestly, her face mystified. “I’ve never met her, though the name rings a bell …”

“You probably read about her in the _Prophet_. She’s quite a celebrity, what we call a witch lady. And of course, you know her husband.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah, sure, Aeneas Crowley was the guy who took the minutes during Snape’s hearing.”

“Of course!” Elena slapped her forehead, “Mr Whitebeard … He’s a businessman-turned-politician, right?”

“Most of all, he’s loaded.” Cassie grinned and took Elena’s arm. “Hey, I’m sure it’s going to be interesting. Somehow I knew when I met you that it wasn’t going to be dull.”

With linked arms, the two young witches came out onto the street following in McVey’s tracks, only to stop and stare as soon as they had cobbled stones under their feet. Standing in front of the entrance to ‘Persephone’s Den’ was a magnificent carriage made of highly polished mahogany wood, with huge gilded wheels and an emblem showing the letters A, M and C. Already, a number of spectators had gathered to admire the vehicle. The actual sensation, however, were the two creatures harnessed to it, half bird, half horse, scraping their hoofs and obviously bothered by the fact that the narrow street didn’t leave them enough space to spread their impressive wings.

“Are those hippogriffs?” Elena asked breathlessly.

Cassie nodded. “Never seen one?”

“No, but Sev… the Professor told me about them. They’re awesome!”

“Be careful, though, they can be nasty”, McVey had opened the carriage doors to a luxuriously furnished interior. There were beautiful brocade curtains and squashy cushions on upholstered benches as well as a small table at the centre, on which very slender glasses stood beside a bottle of what was very probably champagne. “Please enter, Ladies, and make yourselves at home. We have a thirty-minute ride ahead of us, so you might as well get comfortable.”

Cassie and Elena exchanged glances; there was a brief hesitation, but also rapt anticipation. They were quite ready for a little adventure, so they climbed into the carriage, fell back on the luxurious upholstery and Cassie lost no time opening the champagne. McVey, however, didn’t join them and took his seat in the coach box. The doors were banged shut and only a moment later a jitter went through this grand and strange vehicle as the hippogriffs started to trot, gather speed and finally, with a jolt that lifted Elena’s stomach, took off into the air.

“How d’you know this guy?” Cassie asked almost immediately after take-off.

“McVey? He’s working for the Ministry”, Elena explained in a whisper, “he came to interview me a short while ago, together with Ansgard Periwinkle.”

“A smooth one, isn’t he?” Cassie filled champagne into the delicate glasses, spilling quite a bit in the process. “Bit too glib for my taste …”

Elena was on the verge of telling her what Severus had had to say about the man, but thought again. She didn’t know what McVey could hear out there in the coach box. Plus, she was distracted by staring out of the window. The carriage had risen high into the air and the city of London was now not much more than a wide brown expanse, interrupted by patches of green and parted by the winding course of the Thames. Once in the air, the ride was as smooth as in a Boeing 747, but unlike the latter, this vehicle wouldn’t pollute the air with galleons of kerosene.

For almost half an hour, the two young witches sat in the carriage, sipping champagne and gazing outside. Elena felt extremely glad for Cassie’s company. On her own and after all she had experienced in recent months, following an invitation from a complete stranger would have worried her, she might not have followed it, but with her new friend at her side it was no more than a welcome diversion from routine and she saw that Cassie enjoyed the whole thing, too. Yet, she wondered what was awaiting. What could the Crowley woman possibly want from her? And more importantly: how did she know _of_ her?

“Would you like to be rich?” Cassie asked, surveying the interior of the carriage.

“No. I’m afraid it would turn me into a consummate asshole.”

“Me too, probably. I guess it takes a _very_ strong personality not to be corrupted by money, doesn’t it?”

“Honestly, _I_ have never met anyone that strong …”

They exchanged meaningful glances and spent the rest of the ride in companionable silence. Actually, it was a little longer than the thirty minutes advertised by McVey, but eventually, when Elena peeked out of the small carriage window again, a coast line had come into view, choppy grey water slapping a thin white strip of beach. The adjoining grass- and woodland was hilly, dark green and looked soaking wet even from above. Stringy rain came down in droves. The carriage started on a slow descent, circling above a seaside village and zooming in. The touchdown was much softer than Elena had anticipated, and only a few seconds later the door to the carriage was drawn open.

“Everything alright, ladies?” McVey asked brightly.

“What, did you expect us to puke all about this precious thing?” It was obvious that Cassie was bothered by the man. Elena nudged her in the side and smiled radiantly at McVey.

“We’re fine, even if not quite as sober as when we took off.” In fact, the champagne had climbed to her cheeks and she could feel her face give off waves of heat.

“Nothing a short walk in fresh air won’t resolve”, purred McVey, “and I’m afraid we’ll have to walk quite a bit as we had to land in a discreet place, for obvious reasons. The manor is a little less than half a mile from here. Unfortunately, it’s drizzling …”

“Why don’t you Apparate us to the front door?” Cassie demanded raucously. Her cheeks, too, were burning.

“I wouldn’t deprive you of the exquisite pleasure of walking the distance”, was McVey’s smooth reply as he turned to once more lead the way. Behind his back, Cassie made a mock-haughty face at Elena and the latter bit her tongue.

“Where are we?” she called at McVey’s back.

“Just outside of Lyme Regis”, he shouted over his shoulder, leaning into the wind as he walked on. “Have you heard about it?”

“Only in novels”, Elena replied, thinking of Jane Austen and John Fowles.

“Isn’t that quite a touristy place?” asked Cassie. “Daring location for a wizarding home …”

“There are, of course, spells on the estate to make it very difficult for Muggles to find”, he replied. In spite of his small size, his strides were swift and full of energy. “And if they ever stumble upon it, all they will see is a house half in ruins and signs warning them off due to danger of collapse.”

They walked on through the drizzling rain over wet dead grass and soaked ground. The air tasted distinctly salty. The hippogriff carriage had landed between two hills that provided good cover. One of those hills they now climbed, and when they had reached its top, a large house came into view in the valley below. In fact, to call it a ‘house’ was a crass understatement. To Elena, it looked more like a small castle made of brownish bricks with turrets and crenellations – Tudor style, if she wasn’t mistaken. A large well-tended park with a pond spread out in front of it while dense woodland provided the backdrop. It was a splendid view, even in dreary weather, and certainly didn’t look like a ruin. To reach the house, they had to pass through a copse of dripping birch trees. The carpet of leaves of the ground smelt mouldy. Although the house could already be seen, the path leading to it was winding and long, and by the end of it, moisture had once more seeped into Elena’s boots. Fortunately, by this point they were already walking up the front steps of the house. The door opened as if, and very probably, by magic. A grand hall came into view, with two sets of curved stairs leading up to a gallery, luxurious carpets and vases on mahogany pedestals. House-elves stood to attention, and just as they entered, a tall and trim female figure in a floor-length dress glided down the stairs to meet them with a dazzling smile. Her eyes were blue and wide, her hair an impressive mane of black curls. Elena felt as if she had entered the setting of a Merchant Ivory movie with a little wizarding twist.

“Welcome to Abrasax Manor! I’m so glad you were able to join me.” Her voice carried to the last corner of the hall, but it wasn’t shrill. The woman who must be Magrathea Crowley, the witch lady, came towards them and surveyed them with a knowing smile. “Now who of you two beauties is Miss Horwath?”

A quick glance passed between Cassie and Elena before the latter stepped forward. “That’d be me.”

The dazzling smile deepened. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I have heard to much about you!”

“You have?” Elena had a hard time keeping the suspicious note out of her voice. It was due to the shiver than ran down her spine. Something was not right. She stared at the refined hand that lay in hers, then up at the smiling face of their unexpected hostess. Elena estimated her to be in her forties and she was without doubt a beautiful woman, so beautiful in fact that it made the ‘you two beauties’ comment from a moment before appear ironic. Magrathea Crowley was the kind of woman who entered a room and immediately commanded all attention. She also exuded calm, self-assuredness and seemed friendly enough. Yet, for some reason Elena’s skin crawled.

“Of course”, Magrathea Crowley said and met Elena’s eyes squarely, “and I have specifically heard about your bravery. As it seems, you crossed swords with a number of scoundrels recently. That is quite impressive, considering that you’ve only just started your studies of magic.”

Elena digested this. So the woman knew quite a bit about her. Well, not too much surprise in that. Severus Snape’s mishap with Volodimir Leshnikov had, after all, been in the papers and there had also been mention of a ‘young student’ helping the Hogwarts Professor out of a tight spot or two. However, the _Prophet_ had never mentioned her name. On the other hand, their hostess’s husband worked for the Ministry. He might have let his wife in on a few things that were not common knowledge.

“Thank you”, Elena said a little stiffly and went on to introduce Cassie who was cordially welcomed by Madam Crowley. Magrathea Crowley then proposed to proceed to the conservatory where tea had been prepared. Suddenly remembering McVey, Elena glanced over her shoulder and looked around. However, the small man had vanished without a trace. She and Cassie were alone in the grand hall of Abrasax Manor with a Witch Lady and her army of house-elves.

The way to the conservatory was once more a long and winding one. Magrathea Crowley led them through corridor after corridor that appeared to switch direction at will. They went up a flight of stairs, then down another, passed a flight of lavishly furnished rooms upon which followed another long line of corridors. At some point, Madam Crowley smiled apologetically at Elena and Cassie. “You will have noticed that this is a true wizarding house. It has its own will. Today it appears to be in the mood for a tease. Sometimes even I cannot find my way around. However, we’re almost there now.”

They walked down another corridor. On either side, there were innumerable doors, all looking identical, all shut. On the left, another corridor diverged, but this one was very narrow and also very dark; anyone walking down its length would almost have touched the walls with their shoulders. In spite of herself, Elena stopped and gazed down the corridor as if into a sinister and suffocating tunnel. It had a door at its end, and this door was different from the others in being very low and arched. It was also painted a dark blood red. Elena stared at it and found that it was difficult to take her eyes away.

Suddenly, Magrathea Crowley was at her side.

“This corridor leads to the oldest part of the house”, she informed her visitor brightly. “In the Middle Ages, there used to be a small monastery in this place. However, it was destroyed when Henry VIII established the Anglican Church, and this house was built over it, but the crypt is still intact. A ghastly place, though. I never go there.”

Elena smiled politely. It took some will to tear her eyes away from that blood-red painted door.

Magrathea Crowley’s prediction that the conservatory wouldn’t be far off turned out to be right. After another turn, they entered a large room enclosed by glass panes streaked with rain. There were plants everywhere, growing high and reaching the glass ceiling, and Elena saw a fascinated gleam appear in Cassie’s herbologist eyes as she beheld them. In the middle of the room, a steaming pot of tea waited on a low table around which squashy armchairs were grouped. With an elegant gesture, Madam Crowley bade her two guests to sit down and be comfortable. A house-elf poured the tea and brought a plate of cucumber sandwiches while another one showed up with scones, jam and clotted cream.

While Cassie and Elena were perched on the edge of their chairs, Magrathea Crowley took the largest armchair and sat down looking like a picture, hands neatly folded on her lap and continued to beam at her two visitors.

“You have a beautiful home, Madam Crowley”, Cassie said politely, “I like your plants. Some exotic specimens here.”

“Oh, so you’re an expert?” Magrathea made a delighted face. “Have you noticed my Syrian flytraps?” She pointed to a bush of beautiful blossoms with fangs that hissed when they sensed the attention. “They can be deadly, even to humans, but they also provide one of the strongest antidotes available in the wizarding world.”

“I know”, murmured Cassie and there was awe in her voice.

Magrathea Crowley turned her smile on Elena. “I’m very glad you have obviously found a friend”, she commented lightly, “and a competent one at that.”

Elena didn’t know what to say and sipped her tea which was strong, sweet and delicious, even to her who wasn’t exactly a tea aficionado.

“It must be very difficult for you”, their hostess went on, “finding your place in the wizarding world when you’ve only just started to learn about our ways.”

“It has its perks”, Elena said noncommittally. She suddenly felt what Severus must very often feel when he was challenged to comment but couldn’t come up with anything that was socially acceptable. In fact, the only question in the forefront of her mind was a very bleak ‘What on earth do you want from me?’

“Surely you have made the best of it so far”, said Madam Crowley. “Like I said, you have shown extraordinary bravery in recent months, considering that you were so haplessly involved with thugs, thieves and killers.”

“If there is one thing I have learnt, then that the wizarding world is a much harsher reality than the Muggle one”, Elena said.

“Indeed.” Magrathea’s eyes lingered on her. “It is one thing for a Muggle-born child to be slowly introduced to the wizarding world, but quite another for an adult who has already found a place in her or his life. – Tell me, what is it you have been pursuing so far?”

Glad to be on safe ground, Elena gave Madam Crowley a short summary of her educational background and explained that her studies of linguistics were almost finished, the only thing she had to do was to present a master thesis – which she intended to do on Magical Realism in English- and German-language literature (an idea which she had only recently conceived of, and for obvious reasons) – and then she would be free. Her hostess listened attentively.

“I commend you for wanting to finish your studies first before you dip deeper into the wizarding world”, she said.

“Oh, I’m already dipping quite deeply”, Elena assured her. “I have a good teacher.”

“As everyone knows”, Magrathea Crowley said with a fine smile. “May I ask how you found Professor Snape?”

“He found me”, Elena explained and bit into a cucumber sandwich.

“I see. – Of course, his reputation as a teacher is undisputed. I hear that he is not the most pleasant of wizards, but certainly effective.”

“I cannot complain.”

Magrathea’s eyes were on Elena, and they were probing eyes. “Actually, Miss Horwath, I asked you here today to talk about your education.”

Elena’s eyebrows shot up. “My _education_?”

“Your education as a witch, of course.” Madam Crowley leaned forward, her eyes fixed on Elena as if she wanted to see into her soul. “See, I don’t want to intrude because you’re old enough to make your own decisions. However, I am also guessing that there are possibilities that perhaps you don’t know about.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, Miss Horwath”, her mouth became an apologetic little moue, “but I want you to know that you don’t _have_ to let Professor Snape teach you. There are other ways.”

Again, Elena’s skin started to crawl and again she had the uncanny feeling that something was not right. She didn’t know what it was, though. Magrathea Crowley looked at her perfectly amiably and there were charming little wrinkles around her wide-spaced blue eyes. However, it was this face that set Elena’s teeth on edge, but she wasn’t able to put her finger to it. “Why are you telling me that?” she demanded quietly.

“I don’t wish to interfere with your decisions”, Magrathea said quickly, “but I think it is perfectly reasonable to assume that you are not too well informed about the opportunities the wizarding world provides for late starters such as you? Have you, for instance, heard about the Crowley Academy?”

“I have”, Cassie piped up. “It was in the _Prophet_ a few months ago. It provides further education for witches and wizards.”

“That’s right. It is situated in London and recently we have introduced a programme for adults who were – for some reason or other – not able to study magic during their student days. We offer all the standard classes – Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology and Potions. The schedule is ambitious and demanding, but not unfeasible for someone willing to put their mind to it. Someone like _you_ , for instance.”

Very slowly and to give her hands something to do, Elena put down the sandwich and stirred her tea. When she looked back at Magrathea, she was bathed in another bright charming smile. What the woman had said sounded innocuous enough. Why on earth did it make Elena’s body hair stand up?

“That’s good to know”, Elena said eventually, “but as you obviously know, I’m in good hands.”

Madam Crowley tilted her head. “I don’t doubt what you say, Miss Horwath. But surely, Professor Snape’s time is limited, considering that he has a full-time job at Hogwarts?”

“So far, this hasn’t been an obstacle. Also, I’m quite an autodidact. The Professor usually teaches me the basics of any given spell or procedure and I practice on my own.”

“That’s marvellous!” Magrathea said warmly. “Actually, it makes me think even more that you could profit immensely from our programme which is tailor-made for independent learners. I’m sure you won’t mind if I give you some brochures?”

Elena shrugged. “Won’t hurt looking at them”, she murmured.

“That’s what I say.” Magrathea’s words were a satisfied purr and she gestured to one of her house-elves. The small creature disappeared with a sharp crack, only to reappear a few seconds later holding a stack of coloured parchments in its hands which it placed on front of Elena with an awkward curtsy. She quickly surveyed the rolls. They were the wizarding equivalent to glossy sales literature and showed the Crowley Academy – an imposing Edwardian-style building – on the front, pictured in bright sunlight and with throngs of students walking towards it, chatting happily. And there she had been thinking that pushy PR was an abomination exclusive to the Muggle world … “By the way”, Madam Crowley went on, “it is not exactly easy to get into the academy. We have quite demanding entry exams. – In your case, however, we would make an exception, seeing that you have already commended yourself as a vast talent through your recent adventures.”

Elena stared at the papers in her hands. She had the distinct feeling that the woman was manipulating her and trying to push her into a certain direction by praise and mollycoddling. However, she didn’t see the purpose. She pushed the parchments back onto the low table.

“I’m sure you mean well, Madam Crowley”, she said and tried to sound as smooth as McVey had, “but like I said – I’m in good hands.”

“So you’re happy with your present arrangement?”

“Completely happy.”

The smile had gone from their hostess’s face and she considered Elena thoughtfully. In fact, she appeared to have completely forgotten about Cassie’s presence. She started to talk again only after a while. “Like I said, I don’t mean to intrude, Miss Horwath. What you do is entirely up to you, and if you’re satisfied with your present magical education, then that’s that. – I can’t help wondering though …”

“What are you wondering about?”

Again, a few seconds passed before Magrathea issued one of her smiles, one that was intended to signal uncertainty – an uncertainty that, Elena was sure about it, the woman didn’t feel at all. “Don’t get me wrong, but I’m sure you heard about the stories surrounding Professor Snape’s person. His past.”

“Everybody knows about that”, Cassie interjected.

Magrathea’s head jerked in her direction, and it looked a little as if the witch lady was shaking off an irksome fly. “Yes, everybody knows about it. And it is a commonly known fact that Professor Snape is a very brave man whose actions in the recent war were nothing short of admirable. – However, not everyone thinks he’s as much of a hero as Harry Potter claimed.”

“He saved my life”, Elena said.

Now the lady’s smile became dazzling once more. “He did, and this explains why you would be loyal to him. However, am I being overbearing when I tell you that I’m worried about you, Miss Horwath?”

‘Yes, you are’, Elena thought and felt a nervous tick below her left eye, the one that always came when she was getting nervous. Of course, she could guess where all this was going, but cautioned herself not to let out too much. She forced a smile to her lips. “I have a mother and an aunt who are constantly worrying about me, and I can assure you that it’s quite enough for my taste.”

Madam Crowley gave off a measured ladylike laugh. “You can’t imagine how well I understand you. I, too, had a very protected upbringing – too protected, perhaps – and I understand that the worries of a relative can be like a prison. – However, I’m not a relative. I’m just someone who is concerned for her fellow witches and wizards, and who observes. – You have only been a witch for a very short time, Miss Horwath. You don’t know anything about our past … or maybe you do, but you haven’t experienced it. If you had, your opinion on Professor Snape might be a different one.”

“ _Hätte, hätte, Fahrradkette_ _ **[1]**_”, murmured Elena. “I prefer to use my own judgment when making up my mind about people.”

“And right you are. Also, I can see why Professor Snape would make an effort to endear himself to you.” The words were rendered very amiably, but Elena felt them like a whiplash and was sure that this was well intended. She also saw how Magrathea Crowley considered her closely, scanning her face for an involuntary reaction. She was fishing, tried to ascertain the exact nature of Elena’s and Snape’s connection.

Elena forced herself to giggle mirthfully. “Honestly, Madam Crowley, you don’t seem to know a first thing about Professor Snape. He endears himself to no one and certainly not to a mere student.”

Magrathea Crowley let it sink in, but her eyes did not stop to monitor Elena carefully. “That being so, you still have no wish to change your arrangement?”

“Not really”, Elena said nonchalantly. “You see, I got used to him. And in my experience, the strictest teachers are often the best.” She pointed to the parchment rolls on the coffee table. “But thank you very much for these, anyway. I’ll be sure to have a look at them.”

The radiant smile resurfaced. “That’s all I wanted to achieve”, Madam Crowley said warmly. “You see, wizarding education is very close to my heart. Especially after the last war and its casualties, our world desperately needs well-educated witches and wizards. It’s an important stepping stone for building a better and brighter future. The thought that a talented young woman such as you might not know about the possibilities that are open to her pained me quite a bit.”

Elena raised her eyebrows. “So this is why you took the trouble of brining us here? To tell me about your academy?”

“Exactly”, Magrathea replied with a cheerfulness that Elena was sure was entirely faked. “Also I like to know my wizarding peers. And I’ve heard such a lot about you that I just had to meet you in person.”

“That’s very … kind of you”, Elena said and the little pause was deliberate. She caught a meaningful glance of Cassie’s and felt that her new friend, too, thought that there was something fishy about this invitation.

As if to prove that the academy had been all that she wanted to tell Elena about, Magrathea Crowley went smoothly on to small talk. She commented on the weather, the reconstruction of the elven ballet – another one of her projects – and other things currently happening in the wizarding world. The two girls replied politely, but while Elena was secretly and impatiently waiting for the end of the visit, Cassie increasingly joined in the conversation. She asked Madam Crowley a range of questions about her charitable pursuits and, eventually, about her family. “Aren’t you Barnabas Cuffe’s daughter?” was one of them.

There was a brief moment of hesitation before Magrathea Crowley replied, “Yes, you are quite right.”

“I never knew he had children”, Cassie commented.

“Oh, I’m an only child”, the witch lady explained. “And like I said, I grew up very protected; in the country with my grandmother, actually. She didn’t consider it suitable for a young girl to be raised in London which she considered a den of sin.” Madam Crowley laughed.

“I see. – Are those heirlooms?” Cassie pointed across the room.

“They are. You’re welcome to look at them.”

Elena watched in surprise as Cassie got up and walked over to a glass cabinet which held all kinds of glittering items. There were gilded wands presented on small pedestals, vermillion-coloured jars and figurines. The centrepiece, however, was a circular glass case filled with what to Elena looked like marbles. On top of the glass case sat four stones that were a little larger than the other marbles. There was one in blue, one in yellow, a purple one and a black one, each of them resting in its own recess. And there was a fifth recess, but it was empty.

“Those are Gobstones, right?” Cassie looked slyly at Magrathea Crowley who left her armchair and came over to the cabinet.

“Quite right. It’s a very ancient set and its been in my family forever. My grandfather gave this one to me when I was a young girl, shortly before he died.”

Elena became curious and got up, as well, to join the two other witches. She surveyed the set. “ _Schusser **[2]**_ ”, she said. “I had a set of these, too, when I was a child.”

“I’m sure you had nothing like these”, Cassie replied with a grin. “We call them Gobstones, and basically its marbles with a twist.”

“What’s the twist?”

“Ah, I can’t tell you that, it would spoil the fun”, giggled Cassie, “but I’ll show you some day.” Her eyes fixed on the set again. “It’s beautiful”, she said to Magrathea Crowley, “but there’s a stone missing.”

“Yes.” Magrathea Crowley smiled a little sadly. “The red stone. It’s always been like this, ever since it came into my possession. I don’t know what happened to the missing gobstone, my grandfather didn’t know, but it’s a pity. This set would be far more valuable if it was complete. However, it has a high personal value to me, and like you said it is beautiful even without the missing stone, which is why I put it in there.”

“Nice”, Elena said flatly. She wasn’t exactly fond of people who presented their possessions for others to admire. Also, in the last few minutes she had started to feel decidedly uncomfortable and restless. Since a large clock in the corner of the conservatory struck the hour at this exact moment, she saw an opportunity to escape. “Gosh, is it this late already? I’m afraid I can’t stay much longer, I have scores to study.” It was a lie, but Magrathea Crowley jumped at it.

“You’re quite right”, she agreed, “I have kept you long enough. It was very gracious of the two of you to follow my invitation on such short notice.”

“It was a pleasure, Madam Crowley”, Cassie said.

“Yeah, a pleasure”, Elena echoed.

Magrathea Crowley smiled sweetly and then led the two girls out of the conservatory. Again, they shuffled through the long corridors. Inadvertently, Elena found herself looking for the narrow passage with the low door painted in blood-red at its end. However, Madam Crowley must have taken them on a different route this time – though how it was different Elena could not tell – in any case, she couldn’t find the corridor, which was actually just as well since the sight had strangely irked her, stirred something in her guts even. For some reason, she suddenly felt that the door was a disturbing sight, more disturbing in fact than encountering a ghost would have been. However, she could not have explained why it had had that effect on her. All the same, she breathed with relief when they reached the grand entrance hall. Something inside her had obviously been worried that they wouldn’t make it out of the manor again. Probably the events of the recent weeks and months had made her paranoid.

Their hostess bade them good-bye in the most cordial manner. She also made sure that Elena took the brochures and impressed on her to get in touch any time she changed her mind. “It would be a pleasure to welcome you at the academy”, she said, “but of course – no pressure there, just some food for thought.”

“You’re very kind”, Elena murmured politely, looking towards the door.

“By the way …” Madam Crowley’s voice trailed off.

“Yes?”

“It just occurred to me …” For a moment, Magrathea appeared uncertain. “Have you had a chance to meet Madam Snape yet?”

The question took Elena completely by surprise and she stared a little before she finally shook her head.

“No? Well, I just thought … since you appear to have such a good connection to Professor Snape ...”

“I’m his student”, Elena said, already feeling like a broken record, “there’s no reason for him to introduce me to his family.”

“Of course. – You see, I heard that she is in the country, visiting her son. So I thought there was a possibility that you might have met her.”

Once more, Elena shook her head. “I haven’t. – Do _you_ know her?”

“Everybody knows everyone in the wizarding world”, Madam Crowley said lightly. “The reason I’m asking …” Again, her voice trailed off.

“Yes?” Elena couldn’t resist asking.

“My grandfather knew the Prince family quite well”, Magrathea explained. “And although you may consider me brazen, I just have to say this: please be careful with that woman, should you meet her.”

“Why so?”

Their hostess tilted her head to one side. “I don’t know about this personally … but my grandfather always used to say that there was an evil streak in that family. A lot of Princes were dark wizards, you see. This doesn’t necessarily mean anything. I just wanted you to know.”

‘And scare me, if I’m not wrong’, Elena thought. And indeed, the Crowley woman’s words had stirred something inside her, because whatever Magrathea had said about the Princes and Eileen Snape must, by extension, also apply to Severus. In Elena’s eyes, it was nothing but another attempt to dissuade her from keeping up the teaching arrangement with him. She felt the strong urge to say something to put the woman in her place.

“Oh, by the way, there’s one thing I wanted to ask”, she started, “since you’re a Crowley. – Is there any chance you might be related to Aleister Crowley, the occultist?”

The smile froze on Magrathea’s face. It took a few moments for her to regain her composure and to speak. “As your charming friend has remarked before”, she finally said with a chill in her voice, “I’m really a Cuffe and a Crowley only by marriage. I do know, though, that the Crowley family doesn’t like to speak about Aleister. He’s considered a black sheep.”

“Pardon my intrusion, then”, Elena said as glibly as she could, “I wasn’t aware.”

“How would you?” But the smile on Magrathea’s face still appeared laboured.

She ushered the two young witches out of the hall. The carriage that had brought them here was already waiting outside with the hippogriffs stretching their wings and scraping the ground impatiently. McVey sat on top of the carriage with dangling legs, but jumped down as soon as he saw them and opened the doors.

Another round of good-byes followed, and finally Elena and her new friend Cassie sat on the squashy benches again. This time, there was no champagne.

“You shouldn’t have asked her about Aleister Crowley”, Cassie murmured as soon as they were alone.

Elena shrugged. “It just came to my mind that they might be related …”

“And that is quite certainly an embarrassment to the family.”

“Why? At least one wizard that even Muggles listened to?”

“That’s the point! Aleister Crowley was a squib! He managed to enthral a few Muggles with cheap tricks, but beyond that he had hardly any real powers.”

Elena chuckled. “And of course, the Muggles fell for him. Figures.”

Cassie smiled mirthfully. “The wizarding world hates to be reminded of guys like him. – But you took the wind right out of her sails with it, I have to give you that. – What was that woman about, anyway?”

“You didn’t like her, either?”

“Oh, actually I was quite keen on meeting her”, Cassie admitted, “after all the things I read in the _Prophet_. – But there is something very weird about her, I think. Though I couldn’t begin to tell you what it is.”

Elena nodded. “I felt the same way. – But let’s not talk about it now …” She pointed to the carriage wall behind which lay the coach box where McVey sat. Cassie understood and kept mum for the rest of the ride.

The way back was quite a bit shorter than to Abrasax Manor which made Elena think that the first journey along with the champagne had been intended to soften them up and make them arrive in a good mood. But maybe that, too, was paranoid. She just couldn’t shake the feeling that she and Cassie had been subjected to a subtle form of manipulation.

The carriage brought them right back to Diagon Alley where McVey once more opened the door for them with a gallant bow. However, he bade them good-bye by shaking their hands. When he took Elena’s, she felt something in her palm. A piece of parchment, and she saw McVey’s eyes boring into her. With a poker face, Elena slipped the piece of parchment into her coat pocket.

After McVey had gone, she accompanied Cassie until they arrived at a small shop that had jars, vials and dried herbs in its windows and a sign over the door that spelt ‘Cleary’s Clearest Potions’. Along the way, they discussed the visit to Abrasax Manor in hushed voices, but they couldn’t come up with an answer to the question what the invitation had actually been about.

“Maybe we’re reading too much into it”, mused Cassie, “this may really have been about wetting your appetite for the academy.” However, she looked doubtful.

The two witches then hugged, kissed each other on either cheek and promised to get in touch soon. As Elena walked away, getting ready to Disapparate, she found that her mood had improved. She was now very certain that she had indeed found a new friend. The affection that connected Cassie and her was undeniable, even after only two encounters. So much for the good news of the day. Everything else, she would have to discuss with someone else, and her heart started to race at the thought that she had something very interesting to tell Severus. In her mind, she pictured his reaction and found that she already missed him, although their last meeting was less than twenty-four hours ago.

When she came home, Anna greeted her. Suitcases were standing in the hallway and Elena’s aunt was brimming with stories about the visit she had paid to an old friend. So Elena sat down with her in the living room where they had a thorough chat and brought each other up to date. However, the visit to Abrasax Manor stayed on the forefront of Elena’s mind. What purpose had it served? What had Magrathea Crowley really wanted from her? Introducing the academy appeared like a flimsy pretext, but for what?

Only when she was alone again in her box room upstairs did Elena take the piece of parchment out of her coat.

 

_Miss Horwath,_

_I gather you have a few questions by now. Although I’m not sure I can provide answers to all of them, I would like to meet you tomorrow for a little conversation that I’m certain you’ll find interesting. Please wait for me to get in touch._

_Respectfully,_

_Finn McVey_

 

She groaned. What was this? Secrets, manipulations … they never seemed to cease ever since she had set foot in the magical world. And although Elena Horwath would have been the first to admit that her life had become infinitely more interesting in the past months, it also meant that she was constantly getting involved in something. Also, her curiosity was constantly challenged and she knew that she wouldn’t be able to resist it long. After all – and for many reasons – this world was simply too enchanting to ignore it …

 

 

[1] German way of saying ‚would have, could have, should have’ or ‚if the queen had balls, she’d be king’ (nice one!); literal translation is ‚would have, would have, bicycle chain’ – which of course makes no sense at all in English

[2] Austrian/Bavarian dialect word for ‚marbles’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far this is all I have for the sequel, but it's developping a little bit more every day, so there should be new chapters soon ... Please hang on, and don't hesitate to point out mistakes and inconsistencies (I'm not a native English speaker). Also, I'm looking forward to receiving your comments :-)  
> 'Educating Elena' will be updated soon, as well, since a few minor parts have been changed (nothing that alters the gist of the story, though).


	12. Something Wicked This Way Comes

**Something Wicked This Way Comes**

 

At about the same time Elena Horwath arrived at home, Severus Snape breezed into Hogwarts’ entrance hall. It was doused in dim light and since it was already past dinner time, there were hardly any students about and Severus hoped to reach his dungeon quarters without any further delays. He felt completely knackered due to lack of sleep and a very busy day. However, he quickly saw that he’d have no such luck, because out of the shadows stepped the large clumsy shape of Hagrid, obviously eager to talk to him.

“Professor Snape, sir!”

“What is it now?” Severus grumbled, hoping to discourage the big blundering oaf by well-dosed aloofness.

However, Hagrid was adamant. “We been waitin’ fer hours fer yeh ter come back!”

A snappy comment was on the tip of Severus’ tongue, but he could not help noticing that the Hogwarts gamekeeper was upset. “I’m here now”, he said tersely, gesturing for Hagrid to spit out what he had in mind.

“It’s the satyrs, sir”, Hagrid sighed in a dispirited way.

“What about them? Have more of those infernal creatures turned up?”

“No, sir”, Hagrid shook his scraggly head and his voice was shaking as he went on, “it’s the satyrs we had in … well, _custody_ , I suppose. – One o’ them died.”

“Really?” Snape’s brows shot up. It was quite an unexpected turn of events. “When?”

“This afternoon. ‘twas all very quick. He looked a bit green around the nose when I went ter look after ’em this mornin’, but I thought nothin’ by it. Then one o’ them developed a fever. Progressed quickly, the poor creature was sweatin’ all over, foam at his mouth an’ all, an’ then …”

Snape watched with interest as a large tear formed in Hagrid’s eye. What a sentimental fool!

“… the other one’s in bad shape, too. It’s like they caught some bug, an aggressive one that is. Madam Pomfrey looked at ’em, but she can’t make head nor tail of it, either. She said somethin’s funny, though …”

“ _Funny_?” Snape repeated with a sneer, since in his view the adjective was out of place.

“Yeah, she said their skin’s lookin’ strange. Rubbery, like. Professor McGonagall said ter wait fer yeh ter have a look.”

It appeared as if that break Snape so much desired would remain a transparent dangling carrot that he was doomed to chase. Why, now they wanted him to play nurse to a sick satyr! However, he saw of course how this complication fell right into his field of expertise, and hence he had no choice.

“Well then”, he sighed, “let’s have a look.”

He took the lead and walked towards the dungeons, Hagrid hurrying after him. The cell in which the satyrs were kept was spacious and clean, but as Snape came closer a horrid stench invaded his nostrils. He found the living satyr huddled on a cot, wailing pitifully. As Snape entered the cell, the creature looked up briefly with blood-shot eyes, then turned away, hugging itself. It was obvious that it was in pain, its fierce beast face bathed in perspiration. Poppy Pomfrey stood over it, looking perplexed. She had her kit with her and a couple of opened jars and flasks stood on a small stool, evidence of her efforts.

“Severus!” Her face brightened when she saw him which was another proof of her plight since otherwise she had not much else for him than a wary eye. “It’s good you’re here! I’m afraid I’m quite at my wits’ end …”

Stating that Severus Snape actually _liked_ one of his colleagues would have been an exaggeration. However, he respected Madam Pomfrey for her competence and experience. To hear her say that she was clueless thus worried him more than he would have liked to admit.

Without a word, he took out his wand and cast a spell on the satyr intended to examine his vitals. However, it only revealed what was already clearly visible: the creature ran a high fever; its breath stank to high heaven and its skin had acquired a strange yellowish colour. There were also traces of a severe infection the source of which, however, eluded Snape.

“What have you tried?” he asked Madam Pomfrey, upon which she gave him a concise list of the remedies she had got into the satyr, including an infusion of dittany, powdered fluxweed and knotgrass. No surprises there, Snape would have chosen the exact same ingredients.

“Nothing takes”, Poppy said grimly. “Quite the opposite, he appears to be getting worse.”

As if on cue, the satyr issued another wail, but it was weak as if the effort of lamenting was too much already.

“Maybe we should fight fire with fire”, Snape suggested after some seconds’ deliberation.

Madam Pomfrey looked alert. “You mean – fire seed?”

“It might be too much. But lacking ideas …”

“So you don’t have any, either?”

“Not yet”, Snape murmured, giving the satyr another once-over with his wand.

Hagrid cleared his throat. “Maybe”, he proposed, “we should try and find a nymph. It might make ‘im feel better …”

“This is a school, Hagrid, and not a brothel for satyrs”, Snape grumbled. In spite of himself, however, and although this creature had tried to attack Elena, he felt an unease that was close to pity. He felt keenly that the satyr knew very well that it didn’t belong here, that it was lost in a hostile environment. Snape made up his mind and addressed the Hogwarts matron. “Try the fire seed. Maybe give him some dragon blood mixed with vinegar, as well, to take off the fever’s edge.”

But Madam Pomfrey frowned. “There’s something else that worries me. Did you see its skin?”

Snape moved yet a little closer to the satyr, trying his best to ignore the stench that emanated from it in putrid waves. With probing fingers, he touched the creature’s shoulder, evoking a jolt of shock and another weak moan. A deep line appeared on Severus’ forehead. The satyr’s hide didn’t feel like skin at all. It was too tough and had a strange texture, almost like rubber. He tried to remember how it had looked like the night before when he had incapacitated the two creatures. Bluish it had been from the cold outside, but otherwise it had appeared perfectly normal. In all truth, however, Severus hadn’t really paid it any attention then, his mind had been on the impending search of the Forbidden Forest, and something else, as well …

“Any thoughts on this?” Poppy asked.

Severus didn’t reply at once. In fact, something had come to his mind, but it was such a peculiar idea that he was not prepared to believe it yet, let alone share it. “Where is the other satyr, the dead one?” he asked instead.

“We put ‘im in one of the vault rooms”, Hagrid explained, “had ter seal it off, because of the stench, it’s bloody hard ter stand …”

“Show me”, Snape demanded, then turned to Poppy. “You try your luck with this one. Hagrid will have to help me.”

“Help yer doin’ what??”

“You’ll see”, Severus said lightly. No use telling the big oaf that he would have to assist in an autopsy, he would find out soon enough. With an impetuous gesture, Snape signalled for Hagrid to follow him and left the cell in the direction of the vaults. On the way, he made a short stop in his office to collect his tools that were carefully wrapped up in a leather envelope, as well as a box of vials and jars. Hagrid stared warily at the package, but followed Snape with no more than a little supressed grumbling.

The vaults Snape could never enter without a glum feeling. In the meantime, the portkeys had been removed – as Severus saw it, it was the only really useful measure the Ministry had taken in the wake of the Leshnikov affair – which left only the pedestals on which they had been placed. So the vaults didn’t represent any danger to Hogwarts students and staff anymore, but the memory connected to the place was still quite vivid. – Severus heard Hagrid swear under his breath as he struggled into the low space, hunched. His shoulders almost touched the ceiling and he gazed out suspiciously from under a wild fringe of wiry hair.

The dead satyr was laid out on a stone block, covered by a white sheet. When Snape pulled it off, an ugly sight was revealed. The skin was now of a dirty yellow colour with patches of black as if already rotting. A wave of stink rose up, Hagrid groaned and Snape turned away, holding his cloak up to his nose. He rummaged in his box for a paste of aromatic and gave Hagrid a generous amount before applying it to his own upper lip. He then examined the satyr with he help of his wand, only to ascertain that it was very dead.

Snape raised his wand high over the satyr’s body and muttered a range of complicated incantations. They made its skin appear green and the veins and arteries beneath became visible. Another line of incantations followed, and a peculiar tension was forming in the low-ceilinged space, like an increased pressure on the eardrums.

Hagrid squinted at Snape with an alarmed look on his fleshy face. “That was dark magic, wasn’ it?” he growled as soon as the atmosphere relaxed.

Severus sneered. “Why, are you going to run off and tell Harry Potter about it?”

“What _did_ yeh do?” Hagrid asked uncertainly.

“Looked if there were any traces of demon presence.”

Hagrid swallowed and mumbled darkly while Snape spread out his envelope of tools. He took a scalpel which he set to the satyr’s skin, carefully scraping off about a square inch; he took another sample, but it was thicker. When he removed it, he found that throngs of a gooey substance stuck to its underside. “Merlin’s balls”, he muttered and put both specimens on a silver plate in his box, to be examined later. He then chose a different scalpel, gave the satyr another survey and positioned the blade just below the sternum. “I think you should brace yourself”, he said to Hagrid in his silkiest voice to mask his glumness.

“Fer what?” asked Hagrid through gritted teeth.

“I have no bloody idea.”

He cut into rubbery flesh. A black liquid oozed from the cut. Severus moved the scalpel down in a straight line, then made two quick lateral incisions. With the help of a hook he tore off the thick layer of skin and flesh covering the abdominal cavity. Another wave of stench rose up, surpassing the aromatic. Hagrid retched. Snape closed his eyes, took a few seconds to steady himself and then looked. He recoiled with a jolt. The abdominal cavity was squirming with black worms.

Severus swore profusely and obscenely under his breath to counteract the dizziness. Again, he took a few seconds to steady himself. Then he cleared his throat.

“Hagrid, I’m afraid you’ll have to hold a bucket for me …”

 

* * *

 

About an hour later, he sat in his office, mind and stomach calm again, and examined the specimens of skin under an antique microscope. A few of the black worms he had preserved in a jar where they wriggled in a transparent liquid. What he found confirmed the theory that had begun to form in his head during the autopsy. That didn’t mean, however, that he wasn’t puzzled. Actually, what he was looking at here was … impossible? preposterous? unprecedented? He couldn’t quite make up his mind.

Snape went over to one of his bookshelves – order in the office had in the meantime been restored by quietly working house-elves – and pulled out one of his more obscure possessions, a treatise on the fabrication of magical creatures. The book was very old, its pages were on the verge of disintegration, but still readable. It described in detail the making of homunculi and other living and breathing entities by means of magical – mainly alchemistic – processes. Severus took it to his desk and started to leave through it carefully, and as usual he became engrossed in spite of himself and forgot the time.

A crackling in the fireplace made him look up.

“Severus?!” A fiery version of his Eileen Snape’s face appeared in the embers.

“Mother”, he said flatly. It was like suddenly remembering a bad dream.

“Where the hell have you been? You took off last night with that girl and never turned up again!”

He sighed and closed the book. “Something came up”, he explained coolly, “a crisis. My presence at Hogwarts was required.”

Eileen Snape remained silent for a few moments, but the displeasure was clearly visible even on her fiery face. “Won’t you at least come over now?” she demanded after a while. “There’s supper.”

He noticed only then how hungry he was; the gruesome autopsy had pushed any such need completely out of the way. Now his stomach was grumbling. After a few moments’ deliberation, he got up and clamped the book he’d been reading under his arm. “Alright”, he said, “I’m coming.”

He wasn’t too thrilled about the prospect of having supper with his mother. Most of all, he hoped that she had left any kind of cooking to Gilly. Certainly having his dinner at Hogwarts would be the safer bet by far, there was bound to be something left over in the kitchens. However, some residual feelings of filial duty had obviously made it through the storm of the past decade and he thought that after his abrupt take-off the evening before he now owed his mother some attention. He made towards the fireplace, stopped short, retraced his steps and pocketed the jar with the black worms.

As he grabbed a fistful of Floo Powder, Severus couldn’t quite ignore the fact that spending a few hours at Spinner’s End also meant being closer to Elena. He would be able to risk the occasional glance out of the sitting room window to see if there was light in her room. There was even a remote chance that she might come out and that he would see her. The thought quickened his heartbeat. Before he stepped into the fireplace, he caught his own reflection in the polished surface of a suit of armour standing beside it. It distorted his face and made his nose almost double as large as it really was. Snape scowled at himself. “Bloody fool”, he sneered and took off to Spinner’s End.

* * *

 

Supper with his mother was a simple and quiet affair. Of course, the scrutinizing looks she gave him across the table were a little hard to bear, but Severus did his best to ignore them. He had, however, a couple of snappy replies ready in his mind in case she’d embark on reproach. But Eileen Snape was smarter than that. She merely watched him attentively as he ate and only started to talk when he pushed his plate away.

“You’re still a bad eater”, she observed.

“I’m used to not eating much ever since I was a kid”, he replied with a pointed look into the cold black eyes that were an exact copy of his.

“You should be grateful”, Eileen said with a crooked smile, “most men start getting fat at your age.”

“Grateful for being constantly undernourished?” He quirked an eyebrow.

Eileen rolled her eyes. “Hecate, Severus! Is this the only thing you can talk about? The past, and how horrible your childhood was, and that I neglected you …”

“I didn’t say that.” But in fact, he was a little surprised himself that he kept bringing it up. Every time he saw his mother, he was transported into the past, and that brought up a bunch of unsavoury memories.

“But that’s where your comments are headed!” Eileen argued heatedly. “You’re constantly trying to rub it in what a bad mother I was!”

“If the shoe fits …”

“For your information, I never wanted to have a child”, she hissed sharply. “It just so … happened.”

The revelation bothered him more than he could have expected and made him twitch violently. Eileen realized her mistake and put her hand on his.

“I didn’t mean … _it_ doesn’t mean that I wasn’t happy when I had you”, she said eagerly, “you were such a darling baby, never gave me any trouble, not when you were little, anyway. You didn’t become difficult until later, after you’d shown …”

Severus shot an angry look at her. “So _I_ became difficult?! Didn’t it, perhaps, have something to do with my charming father suddenly realizing what he’d invited under his roof? He didn’t know you were a witch until _I_ showed, did he?”

Eileen shifted on her rickety kitchen chair. “Not my fault”, she stated eventually, “Tobias was a little slow on the uptake. I gave him loads of hints before we got married …”

“Nonsense, you did nothing of the sort. – And he wasn’t stupid, not in that way!”

“Oh, so suddenly you’re defending him!”

“I’m just saying that he wasn’t the idiot you’re making him into. I saw that he wasn’t, in his last days. Remember those?”

Eileen issued a deep sigh. “Not _again_ …”

“Mother, I haven’t even started on that one!”

Abruptly, Eileen Snape got up from the table. “It’s about time I had a look at that scar of yours. Let me just dash down to the cellar to get that solution I’ve made for you …” In no time, she was out of the door and left her son at the kitchen table with a bitter grin on his face.

Severus sat very still and stared at a point suspended in mid-air. A memory had suddenly surfaced, one that he had pushed under for years, but now he saw it as clearly as if it was yesterday. His father’s sweaty face, his heavy, ragged breathing and wide fear-filled eyes. _“She’s killing me, son, I know it. She’s giving it all back, and I’m not going to survive it if you don’t help me …”_ And something else, repeated over and over, like a mantra; _“You_ can _help me, Severus, can’t you? And you will, won’t you?”_ He could smell it now. Of course, it was only his imagination, but he remembered the mix of sour sweat and something else – sharp and sickly sweet at the same time – with astounding clarity. _“Won’t you, son?”_

He shook himself. Not a minute to soon, because his mother came back with a large glass vial in her hands and a false smile on her face, commanding him to take off his scarf and shirt. He followed suit and let her carefully remove the bandage on his neck. When she saw what was beneath, she inhaled with a hiss.

“Is it always that bad?”

“Not always. Only when I’m exhausted.”

“Oh, sweetheart …” Her voice was soft and gentle now, but he guessed that she put on the motherly behaviour only to distract him from the earlier topic. Eileen unplugged the vial and with a soft piece of cloth applied a generous amount of the solution to the wound. It prickled, then burnt a little. “I’ve already started on the healing potion”, she informed him. “Like I said, it takes a few days to brew, but I’m sure it’ll come off nicely.”

“I tried any kind of healing potion”, he said sourly, “doesn’t get better than this.”

His mother looked sly. “Ah, but my potion has a twist in it …”

“Dark magic??” He sneered. “Just how many cats did you slaughter for it?”

“Come on, Severus, you can’t expect to cure a wound from a Horcrux snake by straightforward white magic!”

Severus grunted and was on the verge of telling her to keep off the black cat next door. However, knowing his mother he decided against it as it would only have provoked her into doing the exact opposite. Instead, he made a mental note to warn Elena to keep an eye on Lux.

“Certainly, you aren’t going to tell me that you’re not interested in dark arts anymore?” Eileen murmured while she continued to tend to his raw and bloody scar. When he looked at her askance, she pointed to the book on the table. “Pretty black stuff, from what I can tell.”

“Quite right”, he admitted, “I need it to resolve the crisis at Hogwarts that I told you about earlier.”

“What kind of crisis?”

“Satyrs. – I’m sure you read about it in the papers?”

“Yes, I did.” She screwed up her face in distaste. “I wonder how those beasts came here …”

“You might as well. Personally, I don’t believe anymore that they were … well, _imported_.”

“No? – What is it you believe?”

“I think they were made”, he replied, and when his mother frowned he added, “manufactured.”

Fascination flickered in her eyes. “You think? Who ever would do such a thing?”

“Someone set on destabilizing the wizarding world.”

Eileen scoffed. “As if it had ever been stable … - What have you found out?”

“I’m still puzzled”, Severus admitted. “Everything points to the satyrs having been produced by alchemistic processes. The short life span, the quick deterioration leading to putrefaction within hours …”

Eileen nodded eagerly, fully comprehending the implications. She, too, had a keen mind and would have made a fine Potions mistress hadn’t she got it into her head at some point to marry the Muggle who’d ruined her prospects. “What about the material used?” she asked, and the way she cut to the core without delay reminded him how this had been the better part of their relationship, talking about magical puzzles and trying to figure them out together.

“That’s the point. I’m not entirely sure yet, but from the samples I’ve taken from a dead satyr it looks as if there is something extremely dodgy about it.”

“Dodgy how?”

“Dodgy in the sense of … synthetic.”

Her eyes became wide. “ _Synthetic_? As in … plastic?”

Snape nodded gravely.

“But that means …”, she broke off, obviously thinking hard, “… only Muggles make plastic.”

“I know.”

“You mean that … no, Severus, that’s not possible!”

“Of course it is _possible_! Just very, _very_ unusual.”

“It means that a wizard and a Muggle must have worked together to manufacture the satyrs”, Eileen said a little heatedly, “and that is …”

“Grossly twisted and illegal”, he concluded, “though maybe not without precedent.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Trying to find out more”, he said reasonably, “and then finding the person who did this.”

“You should start with finding the Muggle, if one was involved”, Eileen counselled, “probably easier. – Is there something I can do?”

He wanted to say no, but thought twice. Out of his robes pocket he brought the jar with the wriggling black worms. “You might want to have a look at these”, he said.

Eileen dumped the piece of cloth on the table and eagerly seized the jar. If Severus had hoped that she would recoil in disgust, he was disappointed. Eileen was anything but squeamish. “I don’t like the look of these …”, she murmured.

“Nor do I. – Not that I’m surprised that there would be worms. But those are very large, and black …”

“No maggots?”

“None.”

“Very peculiar …”

Severus watched the fascinated and greedy expression on his mother’s face and he had an idea. “Actually, I’d be obliged if you could take an interest. I’m swamped with work as it is, and since you’re set on staying for a while …”

“Sure, sure, I’ll do it.” Her face had brightened considerably and she put the jar of worms on a shelf almost lovingly before she took up the cloth again and continued to apply her miraculous solution to his scar. “Provided you tell me what you find out?”

He reluctantly inclined his head. “Alright.”

It made her smile. He could almost have believed that she was happy to be involved and able to do him a service. He might almost have been touched, hadn’t he known that where his mother was concerned it was usually carrots and sticks.

“They’re really lucky to have you at Hogwarts”, she purred. “How would they even manage with these satyrs if you weren’t around?”

Another carrot. Watch out for the stick now. As a matter of precaution, he did not respond.

Several minutes passed during which his mother’s attention was entirely on his scar. Carefully, she dabbed at it, murmuring quiet comments. The burning had stopped and the side of his neck started to feel numb, but he thought that it was a good sign and certainly a nice break from the constant itch.

Suddenly, she asked, “Do you think there is any chance that you might become Headmaster again?”

He snorted. “Where did _that_ come from?”

“I was just thinking. You’re probably the most capable wizard at that school. And McGonagall is old.”

“Not as nearly as old as Dumbledore was.”

“But Dumbledore was a different league altogether. And even he didn’t live forever.”

“Yeah, and you know very well how this came about!”

She straightened up and looked him in the eyes. “ _I_ know that you did what you had to do.”

The carrots were piling up fast.

“Well, the fact that I did pretty much eliminates every possibility of me becoming Headmaster again”, Severus said lazily. “A Headmaster who is known to have killed his predecessor … I’m sure nothing of the sort has happened at Hogwarts since the Middle Ages, so don’t get your hopes up.”

“It would give you something to do”, she argued.

“Oh, you think I’m that bored?”

Another sly half-smile. “Something _proper_ to do. And perhaps you wouldn’t waste your time shaping a hapless Muggle girl into a witch.”

At last, the stick.

“She is _not_ a Muggle.”

“But Muggle enough not to have noticed what she was for the better part of her life!”

“She noticed. But the world she lived in did not allow her to believe in it. You know how that works.”

“It wouldn’t have happened to you, is all I’m saying. You showed for the first time when you were only ten months old. You were hungry and getting restless, so you _Accio_ ’d your milk …”

“I know the story. And may I remind you that I had a witch for a mother. Didn’t help me much for the most time, but at least I always _knew_.”

Eileen shrugged. “Anyway, she’s a clever one. Hooking herself to a powerful wizard such as you for protection … quite the little ingénue …”

“How many time do I have to tell you that she is my _student_?!”

“… and wrapping you around her pretty little finger in the process. – Oh yes, I saw! The way you dashed out of the house to meet her? It’s the red-head all over again, you have the same daft look on your face, and at your age!!”

“Stop it, mother”, Severus was already getting a good look at the end of his tether, “I can’t be doing with clucking jealousy!”

“Jealousy!” she snorted. “I’m trying to keep you from making a fool out of yourself! A young Muggle girl who probably had droves of lovers – because that’s what they do – and _you_ , a man of forty, with no experience with women to speak of! – At least I’m guessing not much has changed in that direction, or has it?”

That should have been the end of his tether, and would have, had he not suddenly realized something very peculiar. Hearing her talk was like listening to that inner voice which often drove him crazy, which had in fact tortured him only this morning, a cruel awakening after the exhilarating mood that had guided him into belated sleep. Could it be, he found himself wondering, that his fears were really hers, drilled into him from the start, fears of embarrassment and rejection? – But no, that could not be, his fears were the result of bitter experience. – But what if the bitter experience was only a result, as well, born out of a habit to always expect the worst?

Severus pushed the thought aside. It was complex. He looked up at his mother, unmoved. He shrugged.

She narrowed her eyes.

He returned her gaze impassively.

She turned away angrily to spill more solution on her rag.

Severus understood that she had fully counted on him flaring and thus confirming her assumptions. It was the strong response that she was after because it let her know that she still had her hooks in his flesh. The moment he reacted indifferently to her provocations, however, was the moment when she lost firm ground. He resolved to store this away for further reference.

Eileen Snape wheeled around and quite suddenly pressed the soaked rag on his scar. A sharp sting shot through the numbness and he gritted his teeth. “Anyway”, she said quietly, but with a malicious undertone, “I found that book of yours in the master bedroom. Black cover? Gilly appears to have forgotten it when she rearranged our things. I put it in your box room.”

He blanched. A second later, he felt the heat rise in his face. There was nothing to say. His mother acted as if she hadn’t noticed and gave the scar a final swipe. “That’s it for now. However, it must be repeated every day until the healing potion’s ready. We’ll get you fixed up, sweetheart, I promise.” And with that, she swiftly collected her jars and vials, and breezed out of the kitchen.

* * *

 

After he was done with embarrassment, Severus buttoned up his shirt and robe and strolled over to the sitting room. Standing in the doorframe, he surveyed it and noticed that his mother had already made herself at home. Her books were stacked on the coffee table beside her wool basket with self-knitting needles, and a large shawl had carelessly been thrown onto the sofa. A copy of the _Daily Prophet_ was spread there, as well, and since Severus hadn’t had any chance all day to look at it, he came closer. The name ‘Crowley’ jumped at him. He picked up the paper and found himself reading an article he would otherwise have ignored, a piece on some private wizarding school which made him sneer because in Severus’ mind no institution of magical education could ever match Hogwarts. What he read, however, confirmed what Lupin had been telling him that day. The Crowleys were making themselves indispensable to the magical world.

He dropped the copy as soon as the article started to bore him, went over to his desk and scribbled a quick owl to Lupin. Within the last two hours, the re-opening of the Order of the Phoenix had started to appear much more interesting. Members would still have to be discussed, of course, and he was determined to hold his ground, both with respect to Draco Malfoy and to Elena. – Almost in spite of himself, his head turned to face the window. The curtain was only half-drawn, and he gazed through the gap to the opposite house. The light was on upstairs, dim and flickering strangely. Severus wondered what it was. Only after a while did he notice that the light was flickering because there was someone moving, against the glow of a desk lamp, perhaps. For some reason, she moved like mad up there in the crampy room. He watched in fascination, asking himself what she was doing. Then it occurred to him. She was, of course, dancing. Probably, she had music on and danced with herself. Irrationally, he started to grin, and when a black shadow twirled across her window, he chuckled. – Yes, he liked it that she was a little weird, too.

He watched on and after a while his eyes softened, became dreamy. He imagined her dancing, but slowly. He imagined her dancing for him. Then he imagined her dancing for him and taking her clothes off, preferably slowly, as well.

Steps in the hallway, quick and resolute.

Severus turned away from the window, but since no one came in, he allowed himself to remain in the dreamy state a little longer. All day long, he’d had hardly any time to think about her, although of course she was always at the back of his mind. In fact, the slightest mental association was enough for him to hear her voice telling him again that she had fallen in love with him. Every time, it gave him a blissful thrill. And every time, it scared him. For that, he hated himself. He was, after all, supposed to be a brave man and certainly thought of himself in that way. That a woman could throw him so, that she was able to resurrect all the dormant fears of rejection and embarrassment was far more than he felt he could face at the moment.

Elena’s request that he not play with her came to his mind. That one still puzzled him. What kind of man did she think he was? It gave rise to another fear, namely that she had a misguided conception of who he was, that who she had supposedly fallen in love with was not him at all, but some idealized version that existed only in her head. In other words, he could not trust her. Or was it rather that he didn’t trust in his own ability to inspire tender feelings in anyone? It was, after all, a situation he’d never been faced with before, enchanting on the one hand, but deeply worrying on the other. – How to go on?

His thoughts were interrupted by the sitting-room door being torn open. Severus looked up at his mother with his most impassive face at the ready. She gave him a sly smile.

“Looks like you’re daydreaming”, Eileen remarked.

“It’s called thinking”, he replied lazily.

The sly smile developed into a sneer. However, she didn’t comment and went over to the sofa where she sat down, looking around. “What have you done with the _Prophet_?” she demanded.

“What do you mean, what have I done with it?”

“I had it lying there open, because there was an article I wanted to read. – Now I have to find it again.” With a deep sigh, she picked up the copy that he had dropped so carelessly.

Severus watched his mother as she leafed through the _Daily Prophet_ with a sour expression on her face.

“The article about the Crowley Academy? – What’s so interesting about it?”

“Nothing”, she murmured, “only I wanted to … ah, there it is!” Her heavy eyebrows drew together and she looked concentrated in an almost demonstrative way.

“Have you ever heard about the Crowleys before?” he asked.

“Mhm …” Eileen didn’t look up.

“Mother?”

A very brief and confused casting up of eyes.

“I asked you a question.”

“Did you?”

“Aeneas Crowley – he took the minutes at my hearing.”

That got her very fleeting attention. “Is that so? I never knew …”

“So you _don’t_ know him? ‘Cause I just got the impression that you do …”

“No, no, I don’t know him”, she mumbled, “just her …”

“Her? His wife? – What’s her name? Magrathea?”

Another noncommittal “mmh” answered. Eileen’s black eyes were glued to the paper.

“How do you know her?” he insisted.

Again, she didn’t look up, but her lips moved and Severus had to listen closely to hear what she was murmuring. “Know her from school …”

“From school??” Severus snorted. For the first time since their reunion, he asked himself whether his mother was getting old and batty. “That’s impossible. That woman must be about twenty years younger than you are!”

Now Eileen looked up, her eyes glazed over with irritation. “Yeah, maybe …” she murmured inconclusively.

“What does ‘maybe’ mean? Do you know her from school or not?” Something made him twitchy, a strange mixture of apprehension and impatience.

The shadow of another sly smile crossed Eileen’s face. “Maybe I was mistaken”, she said finally and shrugged nonchalantly, “confused her with someone.”

“You appeared very sure just a minute ago.”

“I thought I was.”

“And now you’re not??”

Eileen let out an exasperated sigh and gave the paper a bothered rustle. “Really, Severus, you can be so tiresome at times! Can’t I make a mistake? I’m not a young woman anymore!”

“I’m just wondering what made you think that you know Magrathea Crowley”, he struggled to calmly explain, sensing that he was close to blowing a fuse again.

“It was a mistake!”

“And still you’re so interested in that article?”

“I’m not!!” As if to prove a point, she shut the _Daily Prophet_ and shot up from the sofa. “And you’re constantly acting as if _I_ was overbearing!”

He closed his eyes, waiting for the wave of irritation to settle down. “There is some indication”, he went on to explain, “that the Crowleys may be … behind my problems.”

Eileen’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know this?”

“I just do.”

“Oh.” For a moment, she looked uncomfortable. Then she shook herself. “Well, there’s nothing I can tell you about it. Like I said, I don’t know these people. – But they appear to be very rich. And they’re making themselves into quite the benefactors, constantly in the papers …”

“So you’re following them?”

She glared at him and he expected a scathing comment. Then, however, her face softened. “You know, that must be how I got the idea that I know this woman”, she stated earnestly, “from constantly reading about her. Sometimes those people in the papers appear closer to one than one’s own family. – Particularly if said family is a little … elusive.”

She gave him a surprisingly sweet smile and Severus rolled his eyes. He turned his head over his shoulder and looked out of the window again, towards the opposite house. The light in Elena’s box room had changed to a dark orange glow, probably coming from a night light. She must be preparing for sleep. Severus remembered how tired he was, how leaden his eyelids felt. A strong urge rose within him to go over, fly up quietly to her window, for instance, and ease himself in without her noticing, lie down beside her sleeping form and let her even breathing guide him into sleep. – He got up abruptly to break the spell.

His mother stared at him. “You’re not going out, are you?”

He fiddled on the spot, uncertainly.

“Severus, really! We’ve hardly spent any time together since I arrived!”

He didn’t have the heart to tell her that for his liking, it was already too much time. He didn’t even feel like reminding her that they had – quite a number of years ago – agreed that their paths would never cross again. His mother didn’t appear to remember at all, or at least that was the impression she was set on conveying when she was very probably ignoring it deliberately. Severus found that he didn’t have the energy nor, surprisingly, the anger to challenge her behaviour.

He looked at his mother with a mixture of doubt and resignation in his eyes. Eileen smiled at him then, sat down on the sofa again and indicated the spot beside her, inviting him to sit down and talk to her. It was obvious that she had every intention of spending the evening with her son.

Severus stole a covert glance out between the half-closed curtains. The box room window of the opposite house was dark now.

He sighed, went over to the sofa and sat down beside his mother.

 

 


	13. Wake-Up Call

**Wake-Up Call**

 

It was before the break of dawn on a Saturday morning when a loud banging shook the inhabitants of The Burrow out of their slumbers. It was so ferocious that the walls of the awkward old building – which had withstood storms, a fire, a crashed wedding and, not least, a Death Eater invasion – shook and the ghoul in the attic started to howl pitifully. Within a matter of seconds, dreams and snores were interrupted and lights hesitantly flickered to life in various rooms.

In one of the first-floor bedrooms, Ginny Weasley dove out from under the covers and raised a sleepy head. “Who the hell is that?” she mumbled sleepily.

“Dunno”, murmured Harry, “perhaps they made a mistake?” He turned around and his breathing became deeper almost immediately as he slipped back into sleep.

“Too fierce for a mistake.” Ginny sat up and shook him. “Get up, Harry! You’ve got to go back to your room before Mom notices. You know she doesn’t like it if you sleep in my bed …”

Harry moaned. “Hasn’t she heard we’re fast approaching the twenty-first century?”

Ginny giggled mirthfully. “Well, these things are a little different in the wizarding world … Get a move on now!”

Another bout of fierce banging shook the house, and not only did it sound impatient, but also seriously pissed off. From the floor below, the clicking of a door and the shuffling of feet could be heard, as well as the wary voice of Molly Weasley, “Alright, alright, I’m coming …”

With a tremendous yawn, Harry struggled into an upright position and groped for his glasses on the nightstand. “Still gives me the willies”, he mumbled, “knocks at the crack of dawn …”

“Me, too”, Ginny whispered and sneaked her arm around him, planting a moist and sensuous kiss on his neck. Harry responded eagerly, his finger tips touching her throat and slowly trailing down. She was soft and warm, like a candle on the verge of melting, and when he took her into his arms, she became even softer as if her flesh wanted to merge with his, and the sensation made his head spin. Their kiss started playfully, but quickly became deeper and almost impossible to break. Ginny did it, anyway. “Go now”, she whispered into his ear with a giggle, “or she’ll go bonkers. The Potter privilege doesn’t go _that_ far with her.”

“Don’t I know it”, sighed Harry and climbed out of bed reluctantly. “Listen, do we _really_ have to wait until we’re married? I mean, who does, these days?”

Ginny grinned. With her tousled red hair and the lips deeply red from kissing, she looked irresistible, like a warm and smiling invitation. “Most witches and wizards do”, she informed him. “But we’ll see …”

That, at least, was some encouragement and so Harry slipped out of the room as soon as he had calmed down a bit, winking at Ginny over his shoulder. Out on the landing, he looked over the bannister and listened to the voices that could be heard from downstairs.

“… d’you know what time it is, girl??”

“Sorry, Molly, but I had to come immediately!”

The voice was bossy and a little shrill. Hermione, unmistakably, and quite obviously with her knickers in a serious twist.

“But why don’t you just come in? You know the jinx, after all. No need to wake everybody up.”

“I disagree”, Hermione responded curtly, “you should all hear about this.”

Harry frowned. Hermione could be impetuous, but it wasn’t like her to raise an entire household for no reason. Quietly, he went back to his room where the bed was untouched, got rid of his pyjama bottoms and slipped into a non-too-smelly shirt and clean jeans. He cast a quick glance into the mirror, only to make sure that his eyes were puffy and his black hair as unruly as ever before he went back to the corridor and shuffled towards the stairs. It was at that moment that Ron came down from the floor above, trudging like a sleepwalker and looking at Harry doubtfully.

“Is that the sweet sound of my girlfriend’s voice down there?” he asked groggily, yet sardonically.

“Sounds like she’s got something important to say”, Harry replied with a shrug.

“Yeah, probably she’s pissed off about declining N.E.W.T.s standards”, Ron said with a bored yawn.

Together, they shuffled down the stairs to The Burrow’s kitchen where Molly Weasley was busying herself making tea. At the large table sat Arthur, bathrobe slung over his pyjamas and not quite knowing what had knocked him out of sleep. Hermione, however, looked fresh and alert, although there was a deep frown on her face. In front of her on the table, a pristine copy of the _Daily Prophet_ was spread out, beside it lay an issue of _Witch Weekly_.

“What are you doing here?” Ron demanded as soon as they entered the kitchen. “Didn’t you say you were going to stay at Hogwarts this weekend? To _study_?” The last word came out edgily, giving away Ron’s thoughts on Hermione’s priorities.

“Have you seen _this_?” Hermione asked with a dark frown and pointed at the _Prophet_. “It’s outrageous!”

“We do get the _Prophet_ , Hermione”, Arthur grumbled good-naturedly, “you needn’t have come all the way to show us.”

Hermione, however, ignored him and pushed the paper at Harry. “Look at the headline!”

Harry followed her instruction and picked up the _Prophet_. After a few moments, he gave a low groan. “Not again!”

The headline was fat and sinister. In sensational letters, it spelt _Kill The Spare_. Below it was a moving photograph of a grinning Cedric Diggory, posing and flipping his hair. Harry’s heavy eyes scanned the article that confirmed his worries. The whole affair was being raked up again: the Triwizard Tournament that Harry and Cedric had entered together on behalf of Hogwarts, and the ghastly outcome that was the other boy’s death. The _Prophet_ held that the necessity of Diggory’s demise was as of yet not properly explained. Why, the article asked, had Cedric been allowed to enter at all? Why had Dumbledore’s famed foresight failed in this case, why hadn’t the Hogwarts headmaster taken prudent measures to make sure that both boys would come out of the whole thing unscathed?

Reading the piece made Harry feel sick to his stomach. Not only did it break up the old wounds: Cedric’s death was something he still dreamed about at night, and when he did, his scar started to itch although it hardly did that anymore these days. What worried him even more, however, was what the article suggested between the lines, namely that Cedric had been a pawn sacrifice from the start, that his death had been no more than collateral damage, readily accepted by Albus Dumbledore to keep his ‘Golden Boy’ safe. Obviously, the Diggory family had been interviewed, as well. Amos Diggory was quoted to have said ‘ _We’re still missing Cedric every day. It’s like the light of our lives has been blown out. The question we cannot shake is Why? Why did our boy have to die?’_ Of course, Harry would never have blamed the Diggorys. Their grief, even after more than three years, was entirely understandable. However, he doubted the merit of dragging the whole affair up again, and he passed the paper on to Ron with a sigh.

“Yes”, said Hermione with a dry smile, “it’s starting once more. Our fifth year all over again. They’re trying to upset the truth we gave them, holding that it’s no more than a _version_ of the truth. Remus said that this would happen, remember?”

“Sit down, boys”, Molly Weasley commanded cheerfully and put a steaming pot of tea on the table. “Since we’re all awake, we might as well have an early breakfast. – Good morning, Ginny!”

Ginny had snug into the kitchen, hair still mussed up, cheeks still glowing and lips tellingly red. She and Harry exchanged a conspiratorial glance. “What’s up?” she asked when she saw Hermione sitting at the table looking glum.

“Hermione has come to play owl”, Arthur explained with a small chuckle. “Thought that we couldn’t wait to read the new piece in the _Prophet_.”

“God, is it very nasty?” Ginny asked with a look of ill foreboding.

“Bloody muckrakers”, Ron murmured and tossed the _Prophet_ onto the table for his sister to peruse, “they just have to dig it up again and again, giving it a new spin every time! – I’m not going to read that! It’s a bunch of baloney and none of you should take it seriously.”

“Ignoring it won’t help”, Hermione pointed out.

“Reading it all won’t help, either”, Ron argued. “They’re writing what they want.”

“The really interesting question is”, remarked Harry, “who are ‘ _they’_?”

Hermione gave him a pointed look to convey that this was, indeed, the crucial question.

“What d’you mean, ‘who are they’?” Ron grumbled irritably. “The papers, of course.”

“Yeah, but …”

“Ron’s right”, Molly chimed in, cracking eggs and having her wand stir them in a bowl. “Journalists need to write something. The Victory doesn’t cut it anymore, and since there are hardly any sensational news now …”

“I’d say the satyrs are sensational enough”, Hermione stated matter-of-factly, “did you hear that there was an incident at Hogwarts?”

“No! – Did someone get hurt?”

“Fortunately not. However, Hagrid, Flitwick and Snape searched the Forbidden Forest all night. And the day after, they upset the whole Hogwarts schedule to teach all years how to deal with a satyr ambush. The first and second years are all upset and anxious, it’s next to impossible to keep them in line and concentrate, the whole school’s in a turmoil …”

“Ghastly business with those satyrs”, Arthur said with a shake of his head. “Just imagine if one of the students got attacked … like that girl in the Forest of Dean …”

“Poor love”, Molly Weasley said and tsked, “how do you ever recover from a thing like that? I hear she’s still at St. Mungo’s?”

“The point I’m making is”, Hermione went on tersely, “that there are enough topics the _Prophet_ could write about. What about the Death Eater hunt, for instance? I haven’t heard about that for quite a while. – But no, they have to bring up all the old questions again and distort the recent past. To me it looks like there’s an agenda behind it.”

“What kind of agenda?” Ron asked gruffly as he sat down and poured himself a cup of tea.

“Doubting everything we told them, stupid!” Hermione said impatiently. “Don’t you see it? It’s been going on for weeks, and even more so since Snape’s trial …”

“It was a hearing”, Ron corrected her with narrowed eyes.

“Felt like a trial”, Hermione insisted.

“She’s right”, Harry murmured. “There was an article right after the hearing – not on the first page, though, but still quite a large one – that questioned Dumbledore’s decision to trust someone like Snape and even claimed that he willingly put Hogwarts into the hands of a criminal for an entire year.”

“But _do_ we have to take it seriously?” Ginny wondered. “I mean, there are always going to be people who have their doubts about Dumbledore, basically because they’re jealous of him or resent his influence. Those who were at Hogwarts at the time, however, they know and they will always set it right.”

“Sounds nice in theory”, Harry agreed, staring at the plate of scrambled eggs that Molly placed in front of him. For his stomach, it was still far too early to eat. “However, the number of those who were _not_ on the front lines far exceeds those who were. And many of those who were are now dead.”

Hermione nodded fervently. “The gist being that those who were – us, in other words – are some kind of elitist clique that has taken it upon itself to dictate the truth. Along the lines of ‘the victor writes history’. A lot of people are probably angry with themselves because they didn’t contribute, were too scared to do so, and resent those who did and hence paint them … well, maybe not as liars, but as histrionic drama queens at the least.”

“Good Lord!” breathed Ginny who was immersed in the article and completely ignored her scrambled eggs. “Did you read this? _‘To Albus Dumbledore, the prime objective was always to save Harry Potter. So invested was he into this project that other – seemingly lesser – dangers appear to have slipped the legendary Hogwarts headmaster’s attention, thus promptly leading to the demise of Diggory. Was Dumbledore too focussed on his pet? Did he – a wizard of reportedly more than a hundred-and-ten years of age and with a lot on his plate since the reappearance of Voldemort – simply forget to cover all the bases? Did he make a mistake? Or did he simply not care? It is a well-known fact that in the past, Dumbledore was ready to accept personal loss and grief in order to further his powers and position in the wizarding world (cf. page 3, ‘Deconstructing Dumbledore’).’_ – That’s bloody rich!”

“It’s also logical”, Hermione pointed out. “Since the war, we were trying to rebuild the wizarding world in Dumbledore’s spirit, with his values as our standards. – Looks like this doesn’t go down so well with some. Taking Dumbledore down a notch in the public mind is an obvious step in discrediting what he wanted for us all.”

“But it’s obvious crap!” Ron broke in and fixed his girlfriend across the table. “Like I said, papers will write what they want, and like Mom said, the Victory is stale news by now, so they’re running a little wild. It will calm down. No one’s seriously doubting Dumbledore …”

“Nonsense!” Hermione hissed. “The _Prophet_ is a mirror of the wizarding world, or a barometer, if you will, representing its atmosphere.”

“Which has always been moody”, Arthur grumbled in-between sips of tea. “I agree with Ron. Things will calm down.”

“I don’t know, honey”, Molly sighed from the stove, “I’d just hate for Harry to be shown in a false light again. He’s suffered enough, especially from those rags. And Dumbledore! Let’s be honest, none of us could even touch the hem of his garment! I hate it that they’re trying to smear him, now that he cannot speak for himself anymore.”

“It’s true about his dark past, though”, Harry argued. “He did a few things, Dumbledore, when he was young and friends with Grindelwald …”

That elicited a snigger from Molly. “Yes, even old Albus wasn’t immune to a bit of romance …”

“These details are becoming more and more known”, Hermione went on, “and they’re used against him, to mar his reputation.”

“Still, it could have waited, don’t you think?” Ron squinted at Hermione, his eyes still heavy with sleep. “No reason to throw us all out of bed at the crack of dawn. It’s not even light!”

“I think it’s great!” Molly declared brightly. “We can all start the day early now and work together in giving the house a good clean. Sorely needs it, too!”

“See what you got us into?” Ron hissed at Hermione, but was silenced by her glowering stare.

“Once more, you don’t get what this is about”, she stated dismissively. “You’ve become fat and lazy after the war, all you want is not to be bothered anymore! And so you’re closing your eyes to anything dodgy that might be going on behind the scenes!”

“You know what _I_ ’m thinking?” Ron was slowly becoming heated. “You _miss_ the bloody war! You’ve become an adrenaline junkie and you can’t stand peace times …”

“That’s completely moronic!”

“… and that’s why you’re starting to see conspiracies at every corner when all that’s happening is people voicing their opinions! That’s not a crime, you know?! In a free society, you’re allowed to say what you want and not just what Hermione Granger, the Golden Girl, deems appropriate …”

Hermione issued a frustrated groan. “You’re totally missing the point, Ron! Again!”

“Come on now, Hermione”, Arthur murmured in a placatory tone, “you’re not being quite fair.”

“Not fair??” Hermione stared incredulously into the faces at the kitchen table. “Am I really the only one who’s wondering where these articles come from and what kind of development they reflect?”

“Just told you!” Ron erupted. “It’s called ‘free press’! You as a Muggle-born should know! But no, you insist on making a drama!”

Hermione groaned once more and her eyes found Harry’s. There, at least, she could detect a gloomy thoughtfulness that mirrored her own, and that helped her to calm down while she realized that arguing with Ron didn’t get her anywhere. She took a couple of deep breaths. “By the way, has anyone heard from Remus recently?” she asked with forced brightness. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”

All eyes turned on Harry. He swallowed hard on his eggs and cleared his throat. “Nor have I”, he said eventually, “didn’t you know he quit his job with the Ministry?”

“He didn’t!” Hermione stared at him in disbelief. “Why now, of all times?”

“He basically agrees with you about the present mood”, Harry explained. “And he says he doesn’t want to work for an institution that is so prone to being undermined. He’d rather take a different approach.”

“Ha!” For a second, Hermione looked smug. “What kind of different approach?”

“I have no idea.” Harry shrugged.

“Well, we might find out soon enough”, Arthur Weasley said calmly. “I got an owl from him yesterday. He wants us all to meet soon. At Grimmauld Place.” He looked at Harry. “Provided you give your consent? It’s your house, after all.”

“Any ex Order member is free to use it. Not that I’d recommend it. The place has been compromised.”

“Yeah, Yaxley”, Hermione breathed. “Still at large, as far as I know. That’s another detail that worries me …”

“It’s only a meeting”, Arthur went on reasonably, “the Order has become defunct.”

“But surely there’s a reason for Remus to want to meet us there?” Ginny suggested.

“I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough”, Arthur said and stretched with a yawn. “I don’t know about you people, but I’m going to get dressed and show my face at the Ministry for a few hours.”

“On a Saturday??” Molly asked, alarmed.

“Just to finish a few things up, dear”, Arthur said vaguely and got up from the table.

“And to escape the cleaning action”, Ginny remarked with a grin, catching her father’s warning glance.

“What are you going to wear? I didn’t put anything out for you …” Molly went fussing after Arthur, leaving Hermione, Ginny, Harry and Ron sitting at the breakfast table.

There was a few minutes’ silence during which they dealt with their eggs more or less successfully. Hermione eyes were again searching for Harry’s. “Don’t _you_ feel it, at least?” she asked darkly. “That something’s happening?”

“You keep saying that”, Ron sighed.

“And you keep ignoring it!” Hermione’s eyes flashed angrily. “You probably haven’t even seen what _Witch Weekly_ writes about me?” She picked up the magazine, ruffling the pages as she leafed through it ferociously. “Here! _‘Hermione Granger – nice girl or nerdy gargoyle?’_ – The cheek!”

Ron snorted with his mouth full, stifling a laugh.

“Very funny”, Hermione hissed.

“That’s what you get from being a know-it-all”, Ron said with a shrug.

“Idiot!” Hermione shot up from the table. “And for your information – it’s the ‘nice girl’ part I resent!” She gathered up the papers resolutely. “Suit yourselves then. Nothing like precious apathy, is there? Not for me, though. I’m going to do something!”

“Yeah? Who’re you going to harass this time?”

A malicious little smile appeared on Hermione’s face. “Rita Skeeter. I haven’t seen her in a while and I think it’s time to pay her a little visit. I’m sure she’ll be _very_ glad to see me!” And with that, she turned up her nose and sailed out of the kitchen.

Harry and Ron exchanged telling glances. Ginny rolled her eyes. “Hermione! Wait!” And she hurried after her friend.

“She’s completely exaggerating, if you ask me”, Ron commented and proceeded to make short work of his breakfast.

“You think?”

“Come on, Harry. We won the war! The world’s ours now. I don’t believe for one minute that a few stupid articles in the _Prophet_ might be the harbingers of a new dark age! The way Hermione’s talking one might think that Voldy’s coming back.”

“One thing’s for sure”, Harry mused, “things are not going as we planned them immediately after the Victory.”

“When are things ever going as planned?”

Harry said nothing and watched his best friend eat while only picking at his plate. He still wasn’t hungry, but by now he was aware that the early our was not to blame for it, but rather a feeling of unease in the pit of his stomach. He knew this feeling well as he’d had it before, it was like an instinct honed on past experience. However, he found that he didn’t really want to talk about it now. Hermione had made her point sufficiently.

“What’s up with the two of you?” he asked instead, since he and Ron were alone. “You’re constantly at each other’s throats. Is there a problem?”

“Who knows”, Ron grumbled.

“No, seriously.”

“I _am_ serious! The thing is … Hermione is all about studying, it’s like she wants to do the best N.E.W.T.s in Hogwarts history! All that work makes her testy and constantly on edge. To be honest, it’s getting on my nerves!”

“Is that all?” Harry asked with narrowed eyes. “Your bickering seems personal.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it”, murmured Ron.

“So there _is_ something!” Harry insisted.

“Ah, well …”, Ron rolled his eyes, “it’s just … you know …” To Harry’s surprise, his best friend’s cheeks coloured slightly, “I used to think that the advantage of having a Muggle-born girlfriend was that they would not quite so … _modest_ as wizarding girls … You know what I mean?”

In fact, Harry understood very well and had to bite his tongue so as not to grin. “I guess”, he said noncommittally. “Though I wouldn’t generally say that. Lavender Brown, for instance, was anything but modest …” He broke off, suddenly remembering the fate of the girl at issue.

Ron, too, looked glum for a few moments. “I guess”, he mumbled, then went on. “Fact is, Hermione is about the _most modest_ girl you can imagine! She hardly lets me get to second base!”

“To you as a born and bred pure-blood, that should hardly be a surprise”, Harry commented, “that’s how witches are still raised, aren’t they?”

“Naah, that’s fast changing these days!”

“Well, Ginny says …”

“Ginny’s different!” Ron broke in and shot Harry a warning glance.

Again, Harry bit his tongue so as not to natter about the third bases he’d recently seen. “Alright, um … anyways, you shouldn’t give Hermione the feeling that you only took up with her to … well, _get ahead_ quicker.”

“Of course not! – It’s just … she’s all work and no play! And you know what that makes a girl.”

“Mmh”, said Harry.

“Plus, she’s constantly talking about Snape. How brave he is, and how brilliant. That someone’s out there trying to make his life difficult, that poor man … Nonsense, if you ask me. If Snape’s life’s difficult, he has himself to blame.”

Harry shrugged. He only agreed to half of what Ron was saying.

“You know”, Ron went on gloomily, “sometimes I can’t shake the feeling that Hermione’s got the hots for him …”

“Get off it!”

“No, seriously! They’re drinking Fire Whiskey like old buddies!”

“I think she admires him”, Harry explained reasonably, “for all the cunning he used when working against Voldemort. You know that she respects intelligence more than anything. As a result, being acknowledged by Snape means quite a bit to her.”

“Don’t I know it! Doesn’t change anything for me, though. As far as I’m concerned, the guy is still a greasy git. Always has, always will be.” Dispiritedly, Ron threw his fork onto the plate. “Bloody hell. It’s not even light yet, and already a spoilt day. Courtesy to my girlfriend …”

“Come on, it’s not that bad.” Harry had gotten up and carried his plate to the counter. He looked out of the window and was greeted by the sun that had risen its sleepy head over the horizon with a fiery-red crown that reminded him of Ginny’s most enchanting bed hair. “Actually, I think it’s going to be a beautiful day …”

* * *

 

_When writing Severus, it’s easy to forget all the other canon characters that I love so much. Thus, suddenly missing Harry and the crew, I incorporated this little piece._

_Also, you have probably noticed that I’m not a big fan of the Hermione-Ron-thing. Whenever I put them in a scene together, they start fighting – sorry, that just so happens and I can’t help it. And although I like Ginny very much and think that she and Harry make a nice couple, I still think that Hermione and Harry should have ended up together …_

 


	14. Chelsea

**Chelsea**

 

It was, in fact, a surprisingly sunny Saturday morning, and at the height of it Severus Snape found himself once more steering his broom towards London. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to pursuing business in the city since he hated to move in the Muggle world and London was a place where Muggles abounded in staggering numbers. Their cars where everywhere, honking loudly and spreading exhaust fumes. Their kids were squealing on every corner, their dogs crapping right beside, and the jostling of their bodies and the never-ending uninformed wise-cracking – not to mention the dirty looks they invariably gave him – was enough to spoil the rest of the day for him. Hence, he put off the touchdown a while longer and allowed himself a little race instead, flying in a wide circle high above the borough of Kensington and Chelsea. This he enjoyed, although he knew that he was really too old to be riding his broom like a madman. Yet, it was still a far cry from the wild and reckless races he’d indulged in with Lucius Malfoy about two decades ago; by now, his broom had become too old, anyway.

Eventually, he landed in a small groomed park near Chelsea Embankment in a corner that he believed to be inconspicuous. Once more, he transfigured his broom into a large black umbrella – which was even more useless today than it had been last time – and was about to set off when he noticed a large pair of kid’s eyes staring at him. It was a girl of maybe six or seven years of age. She had long dark-red hair with a green ribbon in it, and sat under a bush, Barbie doll in hand. Severus met her glare and twitched. It was obvious that she had seen him landing and transfiguring his broom because her mouth had fallen open in disbelief. He took out his wand and fixed the little girl with one of this cold glares. Should he Obliviate her? The rule was not to bother with small children who were tolerant with magic and wouldn’t be believed if they told their parents that they had seen a man flying on a broom, but once they had gone to the so-called ‘age of reason’ things could become dicey. The girl under the bush knew very well that something wasn’t right, there was apprehension in her eyes. Green eyes, by the way, bright green. And the auburn hair … He found that he couldn’t Obliviate her. Instead, he tried at a relaxed face and put his finger to his mouth. “Don’t tell”, he said quietly, “nobody would believe you, anyway.”

Her green eyes became even wider. “Are you a _wizard_?” she whispered, completely overawed.

He nodded. On an impulse, he picked up a couple of dead leaves and jinxed them so that they would form the body and wings of a bird, and made it fly towards her. The girl gasped with pleasure as she dropped the doll and received the leave bird in her open palms. Once more, Severus sought her eyes and put a finger to his mouth. She beamed at him and nodded fiercely. He walked away, but looked back over his shoulder after a few yards. She stood on the gravel path, hair glowing fiery in the blinding November sun, stared and waved shyly. He realized that she probably wouldn’t forget this _encounter_ for the rest of her life, that she would try to convince her family and friends for years, that they would laugh at her and that it would make her shut up about it, that perhaps she would even try to convince herself that it hadn’t happened. The thought saddened him and after some hesitation, he waved back at her, not really knowing why he bothered.

Maybe he was becoming soft with age.

 

* * *

 

The house on Cheyne Walk was grand and had an iron fence around it. The road was wide and immaculately cleared of the dead leaves and sludge of the past days. The place breathed affluence, and large shiny cars were parked on the curb. One of these – although he usually snorted at cars – caught Severus’ attention; black, with nice curves and probably what Muggles called a ‘sports car’. Briefly, he imagined what it would be like to be able to drive it. Probably, it gave the average Muggle man the same kind of thrill that he got out of racing his broom.

When inspecting the car started to feel too much like longing admiration, Severus made himself walk up to the house. It had a concierge and the man remembered Snape from his last visit only a few days ago. “To see Mr _Malfoy_?” he asked smoothly, pronouncing the name with a French accent. He probably thought it was chic.

Snape nodded, aware of the man’s eyes gliding over him. He had chosen a suit today as it was less conspicuous than robes, but to the concierge it probably looked like something out of a carnival trunk. The man was too well trained to let on, though, and picked up the receiver of his phone. “Professor Snape here to see you, sir”, he purred after a while, “and do you want me to call the patisserie for your breakfast? – Two servings? – Very well, sir.”

He put down the receiver, jerked his chin at Snape and pointed towards the elevator. “Up you go, then.”

Hating to follow a Muggle’s instructions, Severus took the stairs instead. They took him up two storeys until he reached a wide, lemon-scented corridor at the end of which a door stood open invitingly. The rooms behind it were open-plan and suffused by the slightly grubby November sunlight. The furniture was sparse and hence the golden parquet flooring and the high whitewashed walls set the atmosphere. On first inspection, nothing gave away the fact that quite a talented young wizard lived here; in fact, it looked like the abode of a bored young Muggle whose parents had stuffed more money up his backside than was good for him. On a polished oak table stood empty cartons with Asian inscriptions and two wineglasses with dried-up red residue at their bottoms. Items of clothing were strewn on the floor and Snape’s brows went up as he cast his eyes around in search of Draco.

He found him in the next room, lolling on a chocolate-brown leather couch. His white-blond hair fell carelessly into his face and he wore a white shirt, unbuttoned and exposing a hairless but otherwise surprisingly manly chest. Close beside him sat a blonde girl in a very short jeans skirt, a tank top more fit for July than November, and purple tights that had magnificent holes and ladders in them. When Snape entered, she stared at him with wary coal-smudged eyes. Her lips were a perfect erotic pout and her hand stroked the nape of Draco’s neck possessively.

“Professor”, Draco said with a smile, “what a pleasure on a Saturday morning!”

“Morning’s long past”, remarked Snape and scowled at the blonde girl that looked him up and down impertinently.

“Ah, but that’s where most of the Chelsea party folks would disagree”, Draco replied cheerfully – eliciting a chuckle from his companion – and indicated an expensive-looking leather armchair, “anyway, you’re here, why don’t you take a seat?”

However, Snape didn’t budge from his spot. “I was hoping to talk to you. Alone.”

Draco nodded quickly, turned to the girl and whispered something in her ear. She pouted even more, murmured in protest, but Draco stroked her cheek and said a very pretty ‘Please’, upon which she sighed languidly and got up. She crossed the room with swaying hips and in doing so bestowed another look on Snape that was somewhere between provocation and defiance. Taking her sweet time about it, she picked up a handbag, shoes and a black blouse before she left the apartment, loudly banging the door shut.

Only now did Severus take Draco up on his offer and took a seat. “What was _that_?” he asked.

“They’re called ‘girls’”, Draco explained with a grin, “and that one, I’m told, is the rising star of London fashion heaven.”

Snape sneered. “Which is probably the reason why she can’t afford a whole pair of tights?”

Draco smiled indulgently. “It’s a style. They call it ‘grunge’. – And she’s sweet, particularly for a Muggle girl.”

It made Snape chuckle. “You’re talking like an old lecher. And yet, you’re probably younger than her?”

“Older women like me”, Draco replied with all the Malfoy self-assurance. “To them, I’m this wealthy toy boy that’ll cheer them up without putting any pressure or expectations on them.”

“How does Astoria fit into that?”

The smug grin fell from the young man’s face. “Have you given her my regards?”

“Yes, I have, and I can assure you that it’s been years since I’ve been able to elicit such glowing cheeks.” In spite of himself, the memory of the blushing Astoria Greengrass made Severus smile crookedly. “Which begs the question: what is that … _woman_ … doing here?” He could only just stop himself from saying ‘floozie’.

Draco squirmed a little. “That’s complicated.”

Snape looked pointedly towards the four-poster bed that was visible from where he was sitting and looked as if a bunch of maddened pixies had been at it. “Doesn’t look very complicated to me”, he purred.

“You see”, Draco started, looking flustered, “the thing with Astoria is … she’s _The One_. – You may laugh about it, but I’m sure.”

However, Severus had no intention of laughing. He was acutely reminded of Lucius, many years ago, coming to him with a beaming face and explaining with all certainty that he was capable of that he had found _The One_. Narcissa Black. And in fact, the woman had turned a philandering ladies’ man into a surprisingly uxorious husband. Maybe the Malfoys had a talent for it, spotting the person that was right for them and not turning away from the decision once it was made. “Even more so”, Snape went on, “it should have been Astoria sitting on that couch with you.”

Draco chuckled. “Astoria’s not off age yet, and from a good family. Her father’d jinx me to Saturn if I had her stay here for the night.”

“He’d jinx you to Pluto if he knew that you’re having designs on his daughter and yet insist on rolling in the hay with Muggle girls dressed in rags”, Snape said reasonably.

“That’s just … for now”, Draco murmured and his voice sounded slightly embarrassed. “With Astoria I will have to do everything right, you see. She deserves that. But I’m not quite there yet. Not … ready, so to speak. This is why I’m giving myself this time, here, to sort myself out and to … well …”

“… sow your wild oats”, Snape finished Draco’s sentence lazily.

It made the young man’s cheeks colour slightly. “It sounds awful when you put it like that”, he mumbled ruefully.

“It’s not why I have come here”, Severus replied, letting the subject drop, “as you may have guessed. – Have you done what I asked you to do?”

“I have.” Draco sat up and started to button up his shirt. “And the result was quite surprising.”

Snape leant forward. “So you found him?”

“I did. Wasn’t too difficult. The guy’s conspicuous.”

“You have no idea”, Snape sneered. “Go on.”

“I was on to him all of yesterday”, Draco said. “Spent the morning in the Ministry. Of course, I couldn’t follow him in to see what he was doing there, but it wasn’t too long before he came out again and took off on his broom. Quite an old model, by the way. It was easy to stay on to him.”

“Where did he go?”

A mysterious smile appeared on Draco’s face. “To an address in the Midlands”, he said, closely watching his erstwhile teacher’s face.

Snape’s heavy brows drew together. “The Midlands?”

“A place called Cokeworth, to be precise.”

“He went to _my_ place?” Snape started with alarm in his voice. “To Spinner’s End?”

Draco tilted his head. “He _did_ go to Spinner’s End. But not to your house.”

Ill foreboding glittered in Snape’s black eyes.

“In fact”, Draco went on, “he visited the opposite house. As I was able to find out, an old Muggle woman lives there, a Mrs Crawford.”

Severus shot up from his seat. “He went there? McVey did?”

Draco stared at him blankly. “Why does that upset you? And who’s Mrs Crawford?”

“That … doesn’t matter.”

“He didn’t talk to an old woman, anyway, but to a young one. I peeked in through the window and saw them chatting in the sitting room. They looked quite relaxed with each other.”

Severus twitched and paced over to the window, Draco’s eyes following him with an interested gleam. The young wizard had known Snape since childhood and he could tell when the man was upset. He watched him flexing his fingers as he stared out onto the street below.

“Well, well …”, Snape murmured after a while, but the tone of his voice made it clear that nothing was well. “How long did McVey stay there?”

“A little over an hour”, Draco reported. “Then he took off once more on his broom, this time to Dorset. Grand house, about as large as Malfoy Manor. He didn’t come out until nightfall, then went back to London and spent the rest of the evening in a very dodgy pub on Knockturn Alley, ‘The Green Spider’.”

“Favourite watering hole to that kind of character”, commented Snape with obvious loathing. “And the grand house? Did you find out who it belongs to?”

Draco nodded curtly. “To Aeneas and Magrathea Crowley. I’m sure you have heard about them. They’re in the _Prophet_ all the time.”

Snape said nothing, but continued to scowl out of the window.

Draco watched him for a while, then asked, “What’s up with that McVey guy?”

“You haven’t heard of him?” Severus turned around and folded his arms in front of his chest. “Why, of course not, you weren’t a Death Eater long enough. – He’s a … I don’t know how to put it. A trickster? A negotiator? A fraud? A dark horse, anyway, with plenty of interesting contacts. The Dark Lord used him frequently for his negotiations with possible allies. McVey made contact for us with the giants, the trolls. And he ensured that the goblins would stay neutral, as he is closely connected to them.”

“Looks like one, too.”

“Yeah, but he’s ten times slyer than the average goblin.”

“You don’t like him much”, Draco observed.

“He’s not the kind to be liked. Hard to pidgeonhole. One of those that always make you wonder which side they are on.”

“Do you have a current problem with him?”

“I may have”, Snape replied noncommittally. “The mere fact that he’s around, sticking his nose into things worries me.”

“Do you want me to stay on to him?”

Snape taxed Draco in a calculating way. It was obvious that he was pushing something back and forth in his mind. After a while, he shook his head. “No. Not for now. – However, I may have another assignment for you. If you’re interested.”

“Like I said, I have nothing to do”, Draco said, raising shoulders and arms in a dramatic shrug. “I’m glad for some purpose.”

“Are you also up for Occlumency lessons tonight?”

“Sure!” It sounded nothing short of enthusiastic. In fact, Draco looked at Snape with a genuine pleased smile.

“Good. Come to my house at around seven. As for any plans that I have for you, I will tell you about them later.”

“What about McVey?”

Snape smiled maliciously. “I’ll take care of him. Or rather …” He broke off, his eyes darkening. “Anyway, thank you for doing this for me. – You need money?”

Draco raised a sarcastic eyebrow. “I’m a Malfoy. And although my father doesn’t speak to me right now, he hasn’t yet cut me out of my inheritance.”

“Good”, said Snape with a touch of relief. “So your father’s still sulking?”

“Yeah. He had another visit from some Ministry guys, too. Mother told me.”

“I can just about guess why. He was probably asked to corroborate something I told them.”

“The McKinnon thing?”

Snape gave a curt nod. “Do you know what your father told them?”

“No. But I’ll find out. – By the way, my mother sends her regards. She is quite thrilled that you are – as she put it – ‘keeping an eye on me’.”

Snape snorted and again looked pointedly towards the adjacent room and the untidy bed. “I’m sure she’d say I’m doing a poor job.”

Draco grinned. “Well, she doesn’t have to know everything. – She’d also like to see you at Malfoy Manor one of these days, if you can make it.”

“I hardly think I’m welcome there.”

“Come on, that’s only my huffy dad! Mother’ll make him shut up and behave himself. You know how she can wrap him around her little finger …”

“Yes, I do.” Severus grinned in spite of himself. “We’ll see. I have plenty on my mind right now. – See you tonight, then?”

“Won’t you stay for breakfast? I have ordered something.”

“I’m not hungry. And I have somewhere to be.” A dark scowl spread on his face.

Draco accompanied Snape to the door and bade him good-bye. As he did so, he noticed the tension in the older man’s body. He was still clenching his hands and his movements were twitchier than usual. Draco knew well what this meant: Snape was angry. Not at him, that much was clear, and the young wizard sensed that it wasn’t so much about McVey, either, but something very different. He watched the black-clad wizard as he stomped down the corridor, and the mere fact that he stomped when he would usually glide said it all. Draco wondered briefly who deserved that anger and he felt a tiny pang of pity for the person who would have to bear the brunt of it …

* * *

 

Severus was too upset to bother with the broom and Apparated from the first discrete place he could find directly to Spinner’s End. Without delay, he proceeded to the Crawford house with his blackest scowl firmly in place. As he stood by the front door, he could hear loud rock music from inside. It gave his foul mood a thumping rhythm and the energy went into his knock on the door – only to be ignored. Severus swore under his breath and, uncharacteristically, reached for the doorbell, pressing his thumb on the knob for a _very_ long time.

The music was promptly tuned down, and a moment later he heard footsteps and the door was drawn open. Elena was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved men’s shirt and smiled at him radiantly, but only for a moment before she saw the look on his face. “What’s wrong?” she asked, bewildered.

“We need to talk”, he growled.

“Now is not really a good …”

“It has to be _now_!”

“Alright, alright”, she breathed. “Kitchen?”

He jerked his head and followed her inside, across the hallway where the double-door to the sitting room was wide open. There were remnants of a messy breakfast all over the coffee table, disc sleeves and shells strewn across the carpeted floor. Most disturbingly, there was, once again, a young woman sitting on the couch who, once again, stared at Snape with wide eyes. She had long dark hair and a face that seemed familiar, but he chose to ignore it. He hardly suffered Elena murmuring a quick apology to her guest and steered towards the kitchen, growling.

“Calm down!” she hissed as she hurried after him, eliciting a sharp scoff.

The kitchen smelt of coffee, there were dirty pans on the stove and fruit peels on the counter. Elena closed the door behind them. “What is it?” she asked right away and stared at him challengingly. She had long ago learnt that submissive apprehension got her nowhere with him, and her body language told Severus that she was preparing herself for a fight. It was totally fine with him.

“Don’t you have something to tell me?” he started, glowering at her menacingly from behind a curtain of black greasy hair.

Her face went blank. “What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean! McVey?”

Her mouth opened and closed again. “What about him?” she asked eventually.

“Don’t play stupid! I know he was here!”

Her eyebrows shot up. “So?”

It brought him close to blowing a fuse. “Is that all you have to say? You meet a man behind my back who might be in a conspiracy against me and you don’t waste a thought on telling me??”

Now she was dumbfounded. “Behind your back? … I didn’t! And of course I was going to tell you! Tonight, when we would have met for lessons, anyway. I thought that was quite early enough!”

He issued an evil chuckle. “Learnt nothing, have you? Not enough that someone kidnapped you to get to me, no, you’re as happy-go-lucky and trusting as ever, letting that sort of character into your house without so much as a second thought!”

“The man’s with the Ministry, for God’s sake!” Elena defended herself, albeit a bit lamely.

“That man is manipulative and deceitful! And if I remember correctly, I warned you of him. Also, you should have realized by now that being employed with the Ministry of Magic is hardly a recommendation!”

She said nothing for a few moments, just looked at him searchingly. “Truly, Severus”, she said finally, “I didn’t think anything by it. Also, there’s a story to the whole thing; I wanted to tell you all about it tonight, as well, actually I’ve been _dying_ to tell you …” Suddenly, she broke off and stared at him suspiciously. “Are you _stalking_ me by any chance?”

“Nonsense!” he snarled.

“I don’t believe you!” she declared and pushed forward her chin.

“I’m _not_ going to explain myself to you!” he bellowed, and then – quite without realizing it – he did it, anyway. “I had McVey followed. Only to find out that he came to _you_!”

“Why did you have him followed?”

“You don’t get to ask why before you tell me what McVey wanted!!”

“ _I_ don’t get to …”, she broke off, gasping for air. “What exactly are you telling me? That I can’t use my own judgment on when to tell you something? I am to come running to you right away?”

“Exactly”, he said with an acid grin, “and I hope I don’t have to tell you why!”

Her mouth fell open in astonishment, and she laughed harshly. “Do you really think you can protect me by controlling everything I do?”

“First of all, I need to be able to trust you!” Now his eyes were on hers, it was as if he had cornered her with his stare and demanded something, although Elena had a hard time cottoning on to what it was. His anger was so palpable and pressing in on her that she shrank from him a bit.

“Aren’t you?” she asked in a small voice.

Snape saw her apprehensive eyes, the slight tremor of her hands. It made him twitch, look away and he took a few deep breaths before he spoke again. “I want to make sure nobody uses you to get to me.” His voice was a tad calmer now.

“I understand that”, she said, but she had to force herself to speak gently. “But sometimes things just happen. Like the day before yesterday. I was having coffee with a friend, and suddenly McVey turns up. Inviting me to come with him to visit Magrathea Crowley.”

The glare was back. “You didn’t …”

“Yes, I did. – Wait a minute, don’t work yourself up again, it was all perfectly safe and I had my friend with me! It was only an invitation for tea. Oh yes, and quite an unmasked attempt at warning me off you.”

The glare fell, leaving blankness. “She warned you off me? I don’t even know that woman!”

“Yet, she has quite an opinion on you. Thought I shouldn’t have to bear your teaching practices and come to her academy instead.” She grinned. “Of course, I told her where to shove her academy. – No, no, don’t look at me like that, I was very polite about it!”

“I’m looking at you like that because it was very naïve to just go off with McVey and visit somebody you don’t know at all!”

“Come on, I know hardly anyone in the wizarding world! Sometimes you have to take chances! And like I said, I had my friend with me.”

“Why are you constantly referring to Hincks as ‘my friend’?” he snapped suddenly. “You did the same after the hearing; do you think I’m stupid?”

For a few seconds, Elena was lost for words and just rolled her eyes. However, when she looked at him again, her face was friendly. “I wasn’t talking about Eddie. On neither occasion.”

Another uncertain twitch. Abruptly, Snape turned away, paced towards the stove. Elena suddenly understood what had been riding him and she hung her head to hide a smile.

“Who was with you, then?” he asked after a while, his voice hoarse and very quiet. He didn’t turn around.

“The woman over there in the sitting room you so graciously ignored. Her name’s Cassandra Cleary. I believe you know her?”

He half turned, but didn’t look at her; nodded. Then, briefly, his eyes flickered towards her face. Elena sensed that he had just been jolted out of a paranoia that had a lot to do with trust issues and his fear of opening up. She felt that he was trying to let her get closer, but that this triggered irrational responses and desperate measures to regain control. He saw now that he’d let his temper run away with him and was embarrassed.

Elena came closer. Her voice when she spoke was hardly more than a whisper. “Have you forgotten what I told you the other night? I don’t play with men like that, and I wouldn’t go against you, I wouldn’t …” She broke off, bit her lip.

“Yes”, he said hastily, eyes still glued to the floor. Seconds dripped by, laden with unspoken meaning. Eventually, Elena broke the awkwardness of the moment by telling him quietly about her visit to Abrasax Manor, what she had found there and what had been said, leaving out only one small detail. Snape listened, staring ahead of him, and his face was again impassive so that Elena found it impossible to guess at what he was thinking.

“These Crowley people keep creeping up wherever I go”, he murmured when she was finished. “Lupin mentioned them, he’s very suspicious where they are concerned. – But where does McVey come into this? What has he got to do with them?”

“My impression is that he is somehow indebted to them”, Elena explained. “At the same time, he appears to resent that, or otherwise he wouldn’t have wanted to meet me. Some of the things he told me were … quite interesting.”

Severus looked up into her eyes then, and it was a demand to go on.

“I asked him what Magrathea wanted from me”, she complied, “and his theory is that she was trying to suss out how close I am to you, and if I could be used against you.”

“I bet he couldn’t tell you what that woman wants from me?” Snape asked sarcastically.

But Elena shook her head. “He was quite clear on that. In his view, the Crowleys consider you a danger, or rather an incalculable factor. McVey says you’re too independent and too powerful for the world order they have in mind. And too much Dumbledore’s disciple.”

“I’m no one’s disciple”, he growled.

“What McVey meant was that these days you act in Dumbledore’s spirit. And that, according to him, is the last thing the Crowleys and their posse want.”

Snape digested this, then twitched himself out of his thoughts. “I hope you know to take whatever McVey’s told you with a pinch of salt.”

“Of course I’m wary”, Elena assured him, “at the same time, I’m pretty convinced that McVey has nothing sinister in mind. The Crowleys have some kind of hold over him – he wouldn’t tell me anything about that – and I think he’d be glad to see them gone or discredited or something. That’s why he wanted to talk to me. I think he was looking for an ally.”

“In you”, Snape said with a sneer.

Elena rolled her eyes. “Yeah, absolutely, remind me of what a crappy witch I am, as if I didn’t know already. – And no, I don’t think he’s so interested in me, but he hopes to win your help through me.”

“Fat chance”, Severus scoffed. “Unlike you, I know a thing or two about McVey. Believe me, he is the last person who needs help. – And mind you, I was right, wasn’t I? He’s using _you_ to get something from _me_. That’s exactly what I wanted to avoid.”

“That’s probably impossible”, she mused, “I’m associated too much with you already.”

“Maybe”, he said sharply, “but you don’t need to invite it in, either.”

Elena sighed. For some reason, she looked stricken, but Severus was too caught up in his own thoughts to notice much. “I will take care of McVey”, he announced tersely, “there’s no need for you to meet him anymore. In fact, I recommend that from now on you stay as far away from him as possible.” He fixed her with one of his cold stares. “Do you understand?”

Elena gave a quick nod, but she didn’t look at him. She appeared lost in thought, a little flustered even. For a brief moment, Severus wondered what she was thinking. He was, however, reluctant to ask, anxious that he might upset something and hit a wasp nest of emotions that he was not fit to deal with. Legilimency occurred to him. It was not for the first time that he felt irresistibly tempted to take a covert peek into her mind, but there was a possibility that she might notice, sensitive as her inner make-up was. She had already accused him of stalking her – it still rankled – and hence, he did not want to take the risk. Lacking alternatives, he chose to ignore her pensive mood and changed the subject.

“Are you all set for tonight?” he asked silkily.

“Of course”, she said and the radiant smile was back on her face. “Any plans?”

“You’ll see.”

“Seven-ish?”

He considered for a few moments. “Make it half past”, he replied eventually, “I have a lot to do until then.”

“Will you come here?” she asked, looking hopeful.

But he shook his head. “No. My place.” And as if to emphasize the finality of the decision, he started and went out of the kitchen, once more having Elena hurrying after him.

Once more, she rolled her eyes behind his back, but then watched on in surprise as he crossed the hallway and went into the sitting room without delay. A second later, she heard his voice sounding haughty and self-assured and dealing out a string of silky words.

“Miss Cleary. My apologies for ignoring you. I had urgent business to discuss with Miss Horwath and may have forgotten my manners.” He bowed formally and a little mockingly. Elena realized that he had put on the pure-blood routine. Socially inept he might be, but during his lifetime and in the company he’d been keeping for many years he had also learnt a few lines and certain modes of behaviour that helped him mask his awkwardness in order to keep up the image of the ever-superior wizard.

Cassie had shot up from the sofa and stood there like a fool with an open mouth. “That’s alright, no worries”, she said hastily. “It’s good to see you, sir.”

Snape acknowledged this with a curt nod, then turned sharply to walk to the front door. Again, Elena had to hurtle after him. She saw him off and then watched him as he walked at a swift pace towards his own house, black cloak fluttering and not glancing back.

 

* * *

 

Slowly, she strolled back into the sitting room, her face glum, forehead in lines.

Cassie greeted her with a grin. “Smooooth!” she purred.

In spite of herself, Elena chuckled. _“‘I may have forgotten my manners’_ , my ass!”

“What was he so pissed off about?”

Elena waved that away, signalling to her friend that it didn’t matter and sat down at the coffee table again.

“You held your own, though”, Cassie commented, “I heard you from the kitchen, you were both loud enough. Didn’t like our trip to Dorset, did he?”

“He doesn’t like it when I’m acting independently.”

“He wants to protect you”, Cassie said simply and watched Elena’s face with an amused expression. Elena felt the heat rise to her cheeks, but she didn’t comment and Cassie was too wise to probe further. By her knowing smile, Elena could guess that Cassie had picked up on some tension. However, her new friend was kind and sweet, and determined to give Elena the time she needed to talk about it.

“Is there still something of your ‘imperial nonsense’ left?” Cassie asked lightly.

“No, we ate it all”, Elena replied. She had made _Kaiserschmarrn_ for breakfast, a sweet alpine dish consisting of a fluffy dough spiked with raisins and powdered sugar on top, served with apple sauce and – for reasons unknown – translating to ‘imperial nonsense’. “I can make more in a jiffy if you want it?”

“No, don’t bother, I’m actually quite full up. – And! I’ve made up my mind! – It’s definitely the Stones for me.” Cassie held up the ‘Between the Buttons’ album and beamed. She had taken up Elena on her promise to provide her own brand of Muggle studies and to solve the ‘Beatles or Stones’ conundrum for her.

Elena smiled. “I agree. I used to like the Beatles better when I was a teen. But that’s the point, isn’t it, the Stones are more grown-up. – You know, it’s funny”, she made a thoughtful face, “the Muggle world and the wizarding world overlap in so many areas, but when it comes to music, they are – to say it with Pink Floyd – ‘poles apart’. – Speaking of which, you cannot leave this house today without having listened to Pink Floyd. Or Bob Dylan. Or David Bowie. I won’t allow it.”

“I need more coffee then.”

Elena grinned. “Coming up”, she said and went to the kitchen.

As she left the sitting room, the smile fell from her face. While she busied herself with changing the filter, grinding fresh coffee powder and filling water into the reservoir, she felt nervous and distracted, but only after a while was she prepared to admit to herself that this was nothing but bad conscience.

She hadn’t told Severus the whole truth.

She hadn’t really lied to him, either, or at least that was what Elena firmly told herself. However, if such a thing as ‘lying by omission’ existed, she _had_ probably lied by leaving out one significant detail about the conversation she’d had the day before with Finn McVey.

 

* * *

 

He had called on her around noon of the day before. Once more, his manner had been extremely polite. Elena had led him into the sitting room where he had sat down on the edge of the sofa, refusing any offers for beverages, and proceeded to watch her with a slight smile that was hard to interpret.

“Well, then?” Elena had started the conversation.

“Well, then?” McVey had repeated with a quirk around the corners of this mouth.

“ _You_ wanted to see _me_ ”, Elena reminded him.

The smile had become more secretive. “Not quite. I offered myself to you for any questions that you might have.”

It had made Elena sneer. “Don’t tell me you do this out of the goodness of your heart! I’m dead sure you have an agenda.”

“Why, I can’t simply be helpful?”

“I hear that’s not the kind of man you are, Mr McVey.”

“Oh, so Professor Snape has told you about me?” McVey had started to gently knead the tip of his moustache. “I’m not going to ask what he told you. He’s always been suspicious of me.”

Elena had shrugged. “He probably had his reasons.”

“Probably”, McVey said, but his voice sounded distinctly sarcastic. “In my experience, though, the truth is largely a matter of perspective, and even your Professor cannot see all the sides.”

Elena had sat down opposite of him and jerked her head irritably. “What do you want to tell me?”

“Whatever you want me to tell you.”

Elena hadn’t been able to help scoffing. “Why not drop the pretence? You offered yourself, so I’m guessing you’re actually _dying_ to tell me something! Yet, I am to find out what it is??”

“You’ve got the wrong end of the stick, Ms Horwath. It would be more correct to say that depending on what you want to know from me, I am going to decide whether to tell you what I _might_ be dying to tell you.”

“A complicated one, are you?” Elena had scrutinized him with a frown. “I’m already getting the feeling I’m being manipulated …”

“I will leave this instant if you ask me to.”

Elena had rolled her eyes and issued a complicated swearword in her mother tongue. “Well, then”, she’d finally sighed, “since you’re here … why don’t we start off by you telling me why Madam Crowley sends you around as her errand boy? I thought you were employed with the Ministry?”

“I am not employed with the Ministry.”

“But Periwinkle said you were his assistant!”

“You didn’t question it.”

“So he lied??”

“It wasn’t exactly a lie. I _did_ assist him on that day.”

“But why?”

“Why did I come along? To get a clearer picture of _you_.”

Elena had stared at him. “Of me? Why? And on whose behalf?”

“Naïve questions, Ms Horwath. Of you, of course! A witch no one knows, but who’s associated to one of the most powerful wizards known at the moment and who’s saved his life at that! Immediately after the Leshnikov incident, there were a lot of people who wanted to know who that mysterious student of Professor Snape’s was, and I must admit I was quite curious myself. Not half as curious as Madam Crowley was, though.”

“So she sent you to check me out. – Which brings me back to the question you’ve so cunningly evaded: why are you playing servant to her?”

It had been a pointed provocation, as Elena had guessed that he wouldn’t like being referred to as a ‘servant’ or ‘errand boy’.

Sure enough, McVey had wrinkled his nose. “Let’s just say, I owe the Crowleys.”

“ _What_ do you owe them?”

“A temporary kind of loyalty. – But certainly not affection.”

Elena’s eyes had narrowed while she’d felt a funny twinge in her guts. “And you’re hoping to use _me_ to shake them off?”

A mysterious smile had answered her. “Like I said, I haven’t yet made up my mind on that.”

She had considered this for a few moments, but suddenly a jolt had gone through her and she had shaken her head ferociously. “No way. I got myself into so much shit lately, I’ll be damned if I stumble right into the next mess! – Sorry, Mr McVey, but I don’t want to know.”

There had been no calculation in her words; nevertheless, they changed the situation, and more importantly, they completely changed McVey’s facial expression. It became worried, disbelieving even. He had clearly counted on her curiosity.

“You don’t want to know?” Finn McVey repeated. “You have no interest in helping your Professor?”

She had glared back at him. “What d’you mean, help him?”

“At the very least, I would have expected that you might wish to learn more about the people who are out to make his life difficult. And why they are doing it.”

She had swiftly leaned forward. “I know _why_ they are doing it. He pissed them off by his spy work, by doing the right thing. It’s not hard to guess, either, who these people are. Ex Death Eaters, out for revenge …”

“That’s not wrong”, McVey interjected, “but it isn’t right, either. – Sure enough, your Professor made himself a number of enemies by his actions. Most of them may be ex Death Eaters, and they may harbour elaborate schemes of revenge. However, revenge needs to be orchestrated. It’s not something a handful of down-and-out Death Eaters can easily do. They have more pressing problems – stay hidden, establish communication with their families or among each other, get out of the country … Unless, of course, someone takes charge; channels all the dark energy and gives it a shape …”

Elena remained silent for a few seconds, her eyes on McVey’s peculiar face with the alert dark eyes. Only now did she notice that his ears were slightly pointed, a little bit like Mr Spock’s. “The Crowleys”, she murmured after a while, “they’re orchestrating it.”

McVey didn’t confirm it in so many words, but looked at her with glittering eyes.

“But why?”

The small black-haired man tilted his head. “Isn’t that obvious? – For power. The wizarding world is weak at the moment, it hasn’t returned to normal yet after the Victory. This is the best time to establish new structures, but of course, if anyone wishes to do so, someone like your Professor could be in the way.”

“Because he’s powerful”, Elena murmured.

“That, too. But mainly because he’s a very independent agent, an incalculable factor so to speak. Plus, if anything could be learnt from that hearing, it is that Severus Snape will forever act in Albus Dumbledore’s spirit. And that is the last thing people such as the Crowleys want.”

“So they’re trying to get rid of Sev… the Professor?”

McVey’s grin was no more than a ghost on his lips. “That’s one reason. – However, there is another one, perhaps a more important one. It brings us to the question why Madam Crowley so wanted to make your acquaintance …”

“You mean …”, Elena broke off, thought hard, “… you mean she has a personal motive?”

McVey had inclined his head. “A _very_ personal one.”

“A personal grudge against … the Professor?” Elena had glared at McVey blankly. “Or perhaps …”, her face changed, “… against his family?”

Interest had flickered up in McVey’s eyes. “So Madam Crowley said something to that effect?”

Elena had taken a few moments before she answered. “She mentioned the Prince family. Specifically, the Professor’s mother.”

“I’m impressed”, McVey had said with a dead-pan face.

“What does that mean?”

“Magrathea must be pretty desperate”, again, the man had started to twist the tips of his whiskers, “I wonder if she found out …”

“What?”

“Never mind”, McVey had made a dismissive gesture. “Has she shown you the gobstones, as well?”

“The gob… you mean the set of marbles? – Yes. What about it?”

“Has she also told you what’s so special about it?”

“Only that it’s very old and valuable. And that she inherited it.”

McVey had smiled lightly. “It’s not _that_ valuable, you know. Not with one stone missing. – If that stone wasn’t missing, however, it would be valuable beyond imagination.”

Elena’s brows had drawn together. “Why? It’s only a stupid game.”

“So she hasn’t told you all about it.” The tone of McVey’s voice had been satisfied. “Believe me, Ms Horwath, this game of gobstones is a very special set. And believe me, too, when I say that Madam Crowley would do _anything_ to get the missing stone back.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute …” At that point, Elena’s head had started to spin. “Weren’t we just talking about the Professor’s enemies, about plans of revenge? How do the gobstones fit in?”

“They fit in very nicely”, McVey had explained. “In fact, you shouldn’t underestimate their significance.”

“Then why are you being so vague? Won’t you tell me what’s so special about them?”

Again, McVey had tilted his head thoughtfully. “You might want to find that one out by yourself …”

“Why should I?”

“… I _can_ tell you, however, that your Professor’s mother used to be a very accomplished player of gobstones.”

“Madam Snape?”

“Have you met her?” asked McVey.

“No. But Madam Crowley asked me the same thing.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. That was, after all, probably her main reason for wanting to meet you.”

“To find out whether I knew Madam Snape?”

McVey had cast a pointed look at Elena, one that said ‘Think’. So hesitantly she had started to put two and two together. “So there’s this game of gobstones, with one stone missing that Magrathea wants back … she asks after Madam Snape … who used to be a brilliant gobstones player … Are you saying that the Professor’s _mother_ has the missing stone?”

“I don’t know. But I am pretty sure that this is what Magrathea thinks.”

“Madam Crowley told me that the stone has always been missing.”

“I’m sure it’s been missing for a very long time”, McVey had replied with one of his wan smiles, “and another thing I’m sure of is that Madam Crowley told you a complicated mix between truth and contorted truth on the day you met her.”

“So what’s the truth?”

“To be honest, Ms Horwath, I don’t know the entire story. What I do know, however, is that Madam Crowley is convinced – no doubt for her own good reasons – that Eileen Snape has the missing gobstone, that, in fact, she’s had it for a long time. She might have won it, or stolen it, I don’t know. I don’t know the story behind it, either. – But there is no doubt that the gobstone and the will to get it back is what drives Madam Crowley. And it is her main motif behind her efforts of orchestrating a plan of revenge against your Professor.”

It had taken Elena almost one minute to digest this. “You mean … if Magrathea had that bloody gobstone, she would call her dogs off Sev… the Professor?” Elena had twitched irritably, frustrated by her frequent slips of tongue, but McVey had acted as if he hadn’t noticed.

“He’d still have enemies”, McVey had replied evenly, “he’d still have to watch his back. However, Magrathea is the driving force behind what’s happening right now. Periwinkle, Aeneas Crowley … they just act on her behalf, are fuelled by her, because that is the kind of power she has. – It’s true, Ms Horwath, Professor Snape may have angered a lot of people by his past actions. But I’m pretty sure he has no idea at all that his real enemy is Magrathea Crowley.”

“For all I know, he’s never met her”, Elena had said. “But hey, if things are really as you say, why don’t I talk to the Professor and tell him? He could speak to his mother, ask her if she has that bloody gobstone, and if so, she’ll sure give it back to get her son out of trouble?”

To her surprise, McVey had started to laugh hard. “I’m afraid you’re wrong there”, he had said after he had calmed down. “First of all, I am pretty sure that your Professor has no idea about the gobstone. Second, I’m positive that Eileen Snape would never willingly give it back or even admit that she has it …”

“Why?? A stupid game stone?!”

“I told you. It is a very special set.”

“Special how? Magically?”

“Of course it’s magical.”

“What does it do?”

“Like I said before, you should find that out yourself.”

“Why am I to find out for myself if that is what you came to tell me??”

McVey hadn’t replied at once. Instead, he had smiled at Elena mysteriously and very suddenly, she had understood.

“You want the gobstone for yourself, don’t you?”

The smile had deepened in response.

“And you want me to help you to get it”, Elena had continued, her eyes narrowing while she spoke. “What makes you think that I would do it?”

“That’s easy”, McVey had replied coolly, “to help your Professor. Thus, there would be something in it for both of us: you help him; I get the stone and – my freedom.”

“Your freedom … from the Crowleys?”

A curt nod had confirmed her question.

“So you want a deal.”

“Exactly.”

“Why don’t you just go and talk to Professor Snape and explain to him? I don’t think he’d care very much for that stupid stone …”

“You’re right, he probably wouldn’t. And even more probably, he wouldn’t listen to me. – But there is another complication: like I said, it’s highly unlikely that Madam Snape would admit to possessing the missing gobstone. Actually, I have a feeling that she would rather bite her tongue off than tell him, for a very specific reason.”

“Which is?”

“I’d rather you’d find that out yourself, as well.”

But Elena had shaken her head. “That’s not how it works. You have to tell me everything you know if you want me to help you. Plus, I’d better tell you right now that I would do nothing behind the Professor’s back.”

“That’s touching”, McVey had said sarcastically, “but you wouldn’t be able to help him in that way. – Look, I cannot explain everything to you. The most I can say is that it is necessary that you learn certain things for yourself, because otherwise you would not appreciate their significance.”

“Bullshit! This is just manipulation!”

“No, it is not”, McVey had said firmly. “But that, too, you’ll find out only if you look into the matter. By yourself.”

Once more, she had shaken her head, but in frustration this time. “You have no idea how dodgy all this sounds!”

“Listen to me.” McVey’s dark eyes had held hers, and the look in them had been intense. “The only thing I’m asking is that you try to find out more about Madam Snape and whether she has the gobstone. Won’t hurt you to keep open eyes and ears, will it? Maybe you will learn something. – I strongly recommend, however, that you don’t tell Professor Snape. I’m aware that you don’t like it, but if you told him, you would considerably mar your chances of helping him. Plus, he would certainly resent where all this comes from – he has never trusted me.”

“Like I said, he might have a good reason for it.”

“Maybe. Most of all, he would never believe that I might actually help him. Believe me, Ms Horwath, if he knew he’d react in a way that would make the whole thing blow up before anyone of us even had a chance of getting their hands on the gobstone. Also, it’s a given that he’d very much resent you snooping into his family’s business, but I don’t need to tell you that, you know Professor Snape and can imagine. Again, I would like to remind you that Eileen Snape would never give the stone away willingly, not even to her son, and there is a very specific reason for that, too, one that I’d rather …”

“… I found out for myself”, Elena had finished his sentence, trying to sound bored. “You said so already.”

“Well, then.”

“I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.”

“I sympathize. However, Ms Horwath, all I’m asking of you for the moment is to bear all this in mind and be attentive. You need not betray anyone in order to do so, am I wrong?”

Elena hadn’t replied; the feeling of being manipulated had been too strong. What did she know about Finn McVey, anyway, apart from what Severus had told her? And yet, she’d had to admit it, what he’d told her was, at the very least, interesting, if not fascinating. Plus, the thought that she might help Severus in her very own way, that she might contribute to having the pressure on him relieved was more than appealing. ‘How can it hurt anyone’, she caught herself wondering, ‘if I keep my eyes and ears open and try to find out as much as I can about Severus’ mother? If it works – fine; if not – who’d know the difference? Severus needn’t know.’ Finn McVey had been smart enough not to ask her for any assurances. He had, however, asked her to think about it.

“That’s all that I want”, he’d ensured her, “for you to give it some thought. I know that my proposal puts you in an awkward position. However, we might both benefit here.”

He had left soon afterwards, leaving her in a state of indecision. Several hours later, however, she’d caught herself making plans – on how she could find out more about Snape’s mother and her secrets. Might she ask Gilly, the house-elf, for help? Or was there any way to find out more about the woman’s past and how her path had crossed with that of Magrathea Crowley? Because certainly that was a starting point – to find out exactly how that damned stone had come to Eileen Snape, provided that McVey was right and she really had it. First of all, she’d have to meet the woman! However, Elena already had a feeling that this would happen very soon, probably the next day already when she would go over to Snape’s place for lessons. And as always, the thought of meeting him very soon had not only increased the pace of her heartbeat, but also the eagerness to help him, to improve on his situation, even if in a clandestine manner.

 

* * *

 

Now, however, sitting in her aunt’s living room with Cassie and half-heartedly instructing her new friend on all things Bob Dylan, she couldn’t help having second thoughts. Her little run-in with Severus had demonstrated once more that he was all about trust. He couldn’t abide the idea of her going behind his back, and Elena feared that the more he tried to open up to her, the more sensitive he would become in that area. – What would he say, were he to find out that she had secretly checked out his mother, of all people? There was hardly any doubt in Elena’s mind that his reaction would be very strong, indeed.

She reminded herself of the fact that she hadn’t made any promises to McVey. It calmed her a little bit. But at the same time, she had already kept something from Severus by omitting the gobstone story from her account, and in doing so she had in a way declared consent with McVey’s proposal. No matter how often she told herself that she hadn’t really lied, that she hadn’t done anything yet and need never act, she already felt like to most consummate cad.

The problem was: she knew herself. Specifically, she knew her own curiosity and her deep-rooted wish to help Severus, especially in those areas where he wasn’t able to help himself. After what she had learned from McVey, it would be hard not to stick her nose into things that were none of her business. There was also the fact that Severus’ strictures as to what she was allowed to do and what she was to stay away from always incited a natural spirit of contradiction within her. The more protective – or possessive – he became, the more she leaned towards independent decisions that were a little reckless. This was her way of retaining a degree of self-reliance, something she sorely needed when faced with Severus’ sometimes overbearing attitude.

“Are you okay?” Cassie asked with an encouraging smile.

“It’s alright”, Elena replied lightly.

“Don’t be angry about the way he talked to you. That’s how he is!”

Elena looked up. Cassie’s face was kind and sweet. Elena realized in that moment that her new friend had already seen through her, knew about her feelings, but tried to be as unobtrusive as possible. “I’m not angry with him”, she murmured, “it’s just … sometimes I don’t know which decisions are right and which ones are wrong. Especially decisions in the wizarding world. I don’t know enough about it yet.”

Cassie tilted her head. “Actually I think that at the bottom of it, there is not a whole lot of difference. Yeah, there’s magic. It makes many things easier, but complicates others. – In the end, you always have to rely on your gut feeling. And most importantly, you have to learn to live with your mistakes. And to forgive yourself for them.”

Elena digested that and slowly, a careful smile came to her lips. Cassie was right, of course. She could not make decisions solely to please Severus, how ever strong an incentive that might be. She had to trust herself, regardless of what he might think. And so – also because it was much easier than dwelling on it for hours on end – the decided not to cross any bridges before she got there, hoping that gut feeling would save her ass …

“Cassie?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t forget to show me how to play gobstones. You promised, didn’t you?”

Cassie made a face. “Are you sure you want that? Gobstones can be a little disgusting, you know …”

“I’m sure. I need to know about games played in the wizarding world, don’t I?”

“Then I’d recommend wizarding chess! – But I know where that comes from, mind you. Magrathea Crowley’s set. I can’t get it out of my mind, either.”

Elena looked at her friend with interest. “Why do you think that is?”

Cassie shrugged. “I don’t know. Something about it just stuck. I guess it was that house, too, you know, the whole setting. Weird, somehow. Eerie.”

Elena smiled softly. “As a born witch, you should be used to weird.”

“True.” Cassie looked thoughtful. “However, that was a whole new level of weird.”

Elena couldn’t have agreed more.

 


	15. The Muggle, the Pure-Blood and the Guy in the Middle

**The Muggle, the Pure-Blood and the Guy in the Middle**

 

Elena Horwath always made a point of not showing up too early for any given venture because she found it signified undue overzealousness. Being punctual to the dot was, however, not quite her thing, either, especially since she’d been living in the UK and everyone was always confusing her with a German. Hence, she usually took care to be about five to fifteen minutes late, which in her view was well within academic tolerance, laid-back enough on the one hand, but on the other hand not too late to convey disrespect. True, Severus Snape had a different take on that, but today Elena was in no mood to please him too much as his earlier outburst still rankled. So when she knocked on his front door at precisely 7.38 p.m., her face was set, fully expecting another scolding.

However, it was Gilly the house-elf who opened the door and the greeting Elena received was quite different from what she had expected.

“Madam Elena!” the little creature squealed when she beheld her. “What a pleasure to see the Muggle witch again!”

She was quite speechless for a few moments. ‘ _Madam_ Elena’, indeed! “Hello Gilly”, she said guardedly, “are you quite alright?” Maybe the blow the elf had received on the head when Severus’ house had been ransacked had upset something.

“Gilly is very fine, Madam, please come in”, Gilly made way for Elena to step into the hallway, “it is a pleasure to have the saviour of my master in this house.”

So that was it. Her Halloween trip with the now confiscated Time Turner had made it through the house-elf grapevine, or maybe Snape had told her. Anyway, it was enough to turn Gilly’s habitual suspicion of Elena into glowing admiration. At the periphery of her mind, Elena noted that this might be useful.

“The gentlemen are already in the sitting room”, Gilly prattled on, “let me show you in …”

“Gentle _men_?” Elena repeated while her brows shot up.

“Yes, yes, young Mr Malfoy arrived about half an hour ago.”

“Young Mr …”, Elena frowned. The name sounded familiar, she was sure she had heard it before, and quite recently.

“… Malfoy”, Gilly finished eagerly. “An accomplished wizard, very good family, it is a great honour to have him here to be taught by my master …”

Elena’s heart sank. She had hoped to have Severus to herself, in spite of their earlier argument.

“The father of Mr Malfoy is a very good friend of my master”, Gilly continued, obviously in a talkative mood, “everyone in the wizarding community know him, although lately there are rumours, namely that Mr Lucius Malfoy …”

“ _Gilly_!” The hiss was quiet, but hard to overhear.

Elena looked over her shoulder. The kitchen door was slightly open and in the gap, Elena saw a face. Thin, sallow, framed by a curtain of jet-black hair. Cold black eyes stared back at her, Severus’ eyes, but the face was clearly a woman’s. Madam Snape, no doubt. Elena looked back at the face and quite inadvertently her knees bent for a wobbly curtsey. “Good evening, Madam”, she said quietly.

There was a moody flicker in the black eyes, a tiny jerk of the chin, but the woman didn’t reply. “Stop babbling, Gilly”, she commanded instead, her voice as silky as her son’s, “don’t you have work to do?”

Gilly’s ears dropped a bit. “Of course, mistress, let me just …”

“ _Now_ , Gilly!” It was a bellow, dry as a smoker’s cough.

“Don’t worry”, Elena said hastily, “I’ll let myself in.”

Relief showed in Gilly’s eyes as she took off to be swallowed up by the gap of the kitchen door which was swiftly closed behind her.

‘Speak of the devil’, Elena thought gloomily as she turned towards the sitting room door, knocked and walked in.

They were sitting by the fireplace, leaning forward towards each other in their armchairs, deep into what looked like a conspiratorial conversation. When Elena came in, Snape looked up irritably and for a second he appeared unable to place her (which stung a bit). Then he said, “Ah. Yes”, and got up distractedly.

His companion by the fireplace turned around and eyed Elena with distant politeness. His pointed face was pale and the hair that fell dashingly into it a rare white-blond. He would have looked very handsome, had it not been for a marked arrogant sneer around his mouth. Elena noticed immediately that he smelt of money as his clothes were well cut and obviously expensive. Something inside of her rebelled. She didn’t really want to meet this guy.

However, Snape had gone into pure-blood mode again. He stood there, looking haughtily down his substantial nose at her and it didn’t take long for the smooth words to follow. “I took the liberty of inviting someone who, I think, will be a valuable contribution to our lessons and particularly to your studying. This is Draco Malfoy who used to be a student of mine. He is already quite an accomplished Occlumens and I believe that you will benefit greatly from his presence.”

“Do you”, she couldn’t help replying and the sarcasm in her voice made the young Malfoy quirk an amused brow.

Snape shot her an irritated glance, then became formal again. “Draco, this is Elena Horwath.”

Draco got up swiftly from his armchair and bowed elegantly. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms Horwath.”

No hand-shake. It always confused her. They were all about bowing and nodding and standing to attention, and God forbid there be any physical contact.

“Pleasure’s mine”, she pressed forth through gritted teeth, again trying at a curtsey, but this time she made it intentionally shaky. At the same time, she wondered what made her so recalcitrant. The answer, of course, was easy to find. These magical lessons – in her mind they were for her and Severus, it was the time when they connected and sometimes even achieved a semblance of closeness. Elena could not in the least imagine how this snotty spoilt brat might fit into that. Plus, she had suddenly remembered where she had heard the name Malfoy before; the hearing, of course. Draco Malfoy had been the Death Eater commanded to kill Albus Dumbledore, and when he had failed, Snape had done the dirty work. Elena wasn’t surprised; in her eyes, Draco Malfoy looked exactly like the kind that habitually took his mouth too full and then let others clean up his messes. She already felt her distrust; at the same time she felt deprived, and it made her a little angry. Her eyes flashed at Severus, but if there was one thing he did really well it was acting as if he hadn’t noticed, impassive face in place. In fact, he didn’t even twitch, but with a fluent gesture asked her to pick a seat.

Lessons proceeded quickly after that. To Elena, they had never been so boring. Snape insisted that she watch him and Draco having a go at each other with Legilimency, and she did watch for a while, trying to observe the obscure mental processes going on, but it was hard to follow. The two wizards obviously had a ball, however. They kept staring at each other, beads of concentration formed on their forehead while tension increased and was suddenly released scoffs and grins. “Arrgh, I almost had you there!” Draco shouted at one point, and to her vast surprise Elena witnessed her surly teacher chuckling gleefully. He clearly enjoyed practising with someone from a different weight category.

Elena issued a silent sigh and was soon distracted. She thought about the woman in the gap of the kitchen door, Eileen Snape. She remembered the cold stare, the jerky twitch of the chin, and already it was obvious to her that the woman would not approve of her, in fact might not even give her a chance of getting close, let alone chat about gobstones. By now, Elena knew the looks some wizarding folks reserved for her – the Muggle witch, the ingénue – and it had been that exact same kind of look. With this starting situation, how was she ever to find out more about the woman?

A whooping sound make her look up. Obviously, Draco had just managed to break down Snape’s defences and he grinned from ear to ear. Severus, on the other hand, had a faintly generous face on and said, “Not bad, not bad at all”, which really sounded like ‘Well, but I made it ridiculously easy for you, didn’t I?’ He looked relaxed, though, and Elena realized that he liked the younger wizard, liked him a great deal, and in fact enjoyed his presence and the connection it gave him to something that was, probably, past and gone by now. Elena frowned at the marked sting of jealousy she felt somewhere in her guts. It offended her pride, and a second later she deliberately – and a little defiantly – slipped back into her reverie.

Good thing Gilly appeared to approve of her now, it occurred to her. To be precise, the little creature appeared to adore her, even. Elena resolved that she must further this affection by being extra kind, for Gilly might provide her with valuable information on Madam Snape. Of course, the little house-elf would not do that openly or willingly, its main objective being to serve her family and protect its secrets, but after recent events, Elena had a good idea on how Gilly might be persuaded to talk. Perhaps, it would not be a bad idea to ask the elf about gobstones, feign the ignorant witch and demand to be elucidated – it would certainly flatter Gilly’s sense of self-importance and more significantly, Elena might be able to steer the conversation into more interesting directions.

“Are you still with us?” Severus’ cutting tone tore her out of her thoughts.

She turned a moody face on him. The self-assured arrogance in his irked her to no end. Then, quite spontaneously, she tried something; directed a stream of consciousness at him, counting on his mental channels to be open and ready for receipt. _‘How long are you going to carry on with this mental pissing contest? Need I have come for this?’_

To her surprise, he apparently got her quite well, as she saw by the way his eyes widened a tad. He twitched a little and regained his composure, squaring shoulders. “You two will try now”, he ordained coolly, “Elena, you start and try breaking down Draco’s defences.”

She sat up, sighed and focussed on doing as he’d told her. Of course, it was hard, but the moment she started to probe into the young Malfoy’s mind she noted the difference to Snape. Where Severus’ mental defences were a solid stone wall with only the rarest of cracks, Draco’s was more like a hastily erected plywood construction. It was, however, quite enough to counteract her feeble attempts.

“Not bad”, Draco drawled generously after he had swiftly thrown her out, “how long have you been doing this? A few months? – Not bad at all, really.”

She would have liked to slap the privileged sneer out of his face, but shot him a moody glance instead. Severus, however, was not satisfied. “You can do better”, he said tersely to Elena, “and you, too, Draco; your defence was sloppy. – Again, same procedure.”

Elena’s new attempt was no more successful than the first, but she noticed that Draco tried to reinforce his plywood wall. She let her mind quickly dart this way and that in order to confuse him, but he was quicker and always sealed up the holes a fraction of a second before she got there.

“No, no, this won’t work!” Snape’s cold voice interrupted the process.

Elena snapped out of her mental channel and was startled to find Snape suddenly sitting on the armrest of her chair. His closeness made her hair stand up, but in a pleasant way. She felt a smile come to her face, but remembered Draco just in time and suppressed it. When Snape bent towards her with the obvious intention of whispering into her ear, a chill ran down her spine. “Do you remember our last lessons before Halloween?” he murmured, pouring silk into her suddenly oversensitive ear. “What you tried?”

She looked up with a smile, nodded.

He nodded back. “That’s what I want you to do now.”

Draco grinned, not quite so sure of himself anymore, and squared his shoulders while Elena prepared for another attack. It essentially consisted in making Draco believe that she would go at his mental wall from one end, but quickly dodge to another the moment he was busy to cover his weak spots. Draco didn’t see it coming and a second later, she caught a generous glimpse of a girl – black curls, large blue eyes, smiling, gesturing vividly as girls do when they want a boy’s attention. Elena realized she had seen the girl before – at Hogwarts, herding a bunch of young students towards the Slytherin common room, acting bossy and wearing a badge with a ‘P’ on it. In her head – or rather, in Draco’s head – Elena heard a voice. _‘You need to take some time, Draco. Get some space between yourself and all that happened. Take as much time as you need. I’ll wait …’_

This was the point where Draco pushed her out of his head. When Elena looked at him, there were beads of sweat on his forehead and his grin was lopsided.

“What did I tell you?” Snape droned out, but it was directed at Draco. “Never underestimate your opponent, no matter who they are. Self-assurance is good, but it can easily turn into arrogance. An Occlumens cannot afford arrogance.” Then his eyes flashed at Elena. “And you, don’t look too smug!” Her smile fell off her lips. “I won’t be satisfied until you’re able to break down his defences again. And again. And again. – Starting now.”

However, she never saw the girl with the black curls again. Draco was alert now and put considerably more effort into his mental shield, perspiration gathering on his face. However, his powers as an Occlumens were quite solid, and after a while it was Elena’s face that was bathed in the sweat of futility.

After half an hour, Snape interrupted the process with a languid wave of his hand and looked at Elena pointedly. In the next moment, she heard his voice in her head. _‘Still feeling under-challenged?’_ She replied with a rueful smile.

It was Draco’s turn again to practice Legilimency, but Snape didn’t let him try on Elena, claiming that he would learn nothing from it. Instead, he insisted that Draco try on him. It occurred to Elena that there might be a very specific reason why Snape did that. Very probably, he did not want Draco to rake up what was buried in her mind – and not exactly _buried_ , either – about that night in the lighthouse.

This time, Elena watched more attentively what was going on. It was obvious that Severus was far too good for Draco and that the young Malfoy hardly managed to break through his mental stone wall. However, it was also clear that Draco wanted nothing better and really made an effort, his eyes gleaming like a reptile’s. Whenever he appeared to succeed a little bit, he couldn’t help whooping with boyish pleasure and that was what made Elena realize how Draco looked up to Snape and admired him. It disposed her a little kindlier towards the young wizard, especially since after a while she saw Severus’ mood lighten considerably. He even reacted with an occasional smile to Draco’s successful attempts and his body language became relaxed, the characteristic twitches almost gone. “Thought you’d become a bit rusty at first”, he murmured after a while, “but this is not so bad at all. I hate to say this, but your aunt Bellatrix taught you well.”

“Bellatrix _Lestrange_??” Elena blurted out. She might be a novice in the wizarding world, but she had certainly heard enough of the witch – a cruel and crazy banshee who’d enjoyed torture and setting everything and everyone ablaze – to stare at Draco with disbelieving eyes. He looked back coolly – clearly masking embarrassment – and nodded. It was in this moment when Elena became fully aware of the fact that she was sitting in a room with two former Death Eaters. And sure enough, there was something between those two; she had noticed it the moment she had entered the sitting room and seen them leaning towards each other. There was a connection, an invisible bond. To Elena, it was also a small glimpse into Severus’ past.

“She was a superb Occlumens”, Snape remarked.

“She was many things”, Draco supplemented with a small smile.

“So I’ve heard”, Elena said, inspecting her fingernails and eliciting a faint scowl from Draco.

“This is, I believe, a good point to break this off”, Severus drawled smoothly, ignoring the tension.

A peek at the large grandfather clock told Elena that it was already 9 p.m. – time had flown without her realizing it. Like Draco Malfoy, she got up from her chair, but Snape shook his head. “I didn’t mean you”, he told her firmly, “we’re not done yet.” He looked up at Draco. “And with you I need a quick word.”

Sitting down obediently, Elena watched as the two wizards exchanged a meaningful glance. Draco bowed formally to Elena, mumbled something about the pleasure of having met her and then left the room with his teacher while Elena’s eyes followed them curiously. What did they have to talk about? And was she wrong, feeling that she had detected a conspiratorial note there as if the two men were harbouring a secret?

 

* * *

 

The moment they had stepped into the hallway and the sitting-room door had closed, Snape turned to Draco. “You know now what I mean?” he asked urgently, his voice quiet so as not to carry into the adjacent room.

“Yes, I understand”, Draco confirmed with a thoughtful nod. “Mind you though, I’m not quite sure whether she’s as helpless as you make her out to be. At least, if the Occlumency is anything to go by …”

“Ah, but there you’re wrong”, Snape corrected with a strictly raised eyebrow, “granted, she has talent, so much is obvious. But that makes it easy to overestimate her and to forget that she only started with all this about six months ago. Most importantly, she tends to overestimate herself and be reckless.”

“Didn’t she save your life on at least one occasion?”

“Two, to be precise.”

“One might say that she has earned her spurs …”

“Wrong again. She was lucky. And now I’m sure she thinks the world of her powers. This is exactly what worries me. She might run out of luck someday, and as you’re certainly aware, nobody will give her any credit for being a beginner in case of an emergency. No kid gloves in our world.”

“Certainly not”, Draco admitted. “All the same, do you really think it is necessary?”

“I’m sure of it. There have been attempts to get at me through her. My original intention was merely to teach her, to make a witch out of her. But before I knew it, she became my Achilles heel.”

Draco eyed Snape curiously. The corners of his mouth jumped. “So you want me to … follow her around?”

“Keep an eye on her”, Snape specified carefully. “See what she’s doing all day while I’m at Hogwarts, where she goes, who she meets.”

“What if she notices?”

Snape shrugged. “Think of something. She’s your co-student now, so you have an entry. Also, you want to learn more about the Muggle world, don’t you?”

“Um …”

“Well, at least you could claim that you want to learn. She’s a talker, that one. I’m pretty sure that she’ll be eager to please and fill you in on the wonders of her original world.”

“I didn’t have the feeling that she liked me all that much”, Draco grumbled.

Snape raised an ironic eyebrow. “What about that Malfoy charm, then? Didn’t you say that older women like you?”

“A certain _type_ of older women.”

“You’ll manage”, Snape said confidently. “I know you’re resourceful. You’ll be perfectly able to keep an eye on her without Elena being any wiser.”

“I’ll try”, Draco promised, but he looked doubtful.

The kitchen door creaked. “Are you already leaving us, Mr Malfoy?” Eileen Snape came into the hallway with a rare smile on her lips. “You’ve hardly arrived.”

“It’s been two hours”, Snape remarked, watching with an amused gleam in his eyes as his mother took in Draco almost greedily and with an unusual eagerness to please.

“An intense two hours”, Draco said and bowed deeply to Eileen. “However, it’s been a pleasure to meet you at last, Madam Snape.”

“Actually, it’s Prince”, Eileen explained self-importantly, “I have assumed my maiden name again.” She completely ignored her son’s astonished glare.

Draco acknowledged this by inclining his head. “Madam Prince”, he purred smoothly.

“You look very much like your father”, Eileen said with something that resembled warmness. “I remember him well. He used to come here sometimes. Always so charming and polite. – I hope he is well?”

“Quite well. You’re very kind”, Draco said. “I’ll give him your regards when I see him.”

“Please do. And visit us again soon.”

Mother and son saw the young wizard off.

“Your maiden name? Seriously?” Severus hissed as soon as the door had closed behind Draco.

Eileen merely shrugged. “Is _she_ still there?” she asked after a beat, pointing to the sitting room door, her expression sour.

“She needs far more tutoring than Draco does”, Snape replied reasonably.

“Yes. I could see _that_ right away. – Don’t forget about your wound, sweetheart, we have to do our little routine.”

“There’ll be enough time”, Snape declared, “afterwards.” And with that, he turned to the adjacent door. He shot an ironic glance over his shoulder. “Will that do, _Madam Prince_?”

“Fine, Severus, be like that”, his mother hissed. “And don’t let your little ingénue wait.”

They glowered at each other for a few moments. Then, at the exact same instant and with the exact same twitch, they turned sharply, each one in their respective direction, and exited the hallway, banging doors.

 

* * *

 

“Is he always going to participate from now on?” Elena asked when Snape had come back into the sitting room.

To her surprise, he smiled faintly. His mood seemed altogether much improved compared to this morning’s. Elena even thought she could detect a softness in his demeanour. “You object?”

The good thing about him was that she was hardly ever tempted to tell a polite lie, but could just spill out any misgivings she had, because he would certainly never hesitate to do so. “I think he’s arrogant”, she dealt out gloomily.

“When was he arrogant to you tonight?”

“Oh, come on, it’s just the way he sits there, stinking of money, constantly wrinkling his nose …”

“He was brought up very differently me from you or me.” Snape sat down in the armchair beside her and watched her with a look of amusement. “Do I detect a class prejudice here?”

“He just seems spoilt, that’s all”, Elena mumbled.

“He was”, admitted Snape, “but I don’t think he is any longer. Draco went through a rough time.”

“You like him.” It wasn’t a question, her face was too stern.

“I do. – But to get back to your original question, no, he is not going to join us every time. But sometimes, and particularly for Occlumency. He asked me for help in that area and I intend to give it.”

His eyes on her were cool and, she thought, a little calculating. What was he thinking about? If he hadn’t been so hard to read, she might have wondered if he had a secret.

“Alright, then”, she breathed sulkily.

Snape watched her with another thin smile. From overhead, determined footsteps could be heard. Half a minute later, there was a nerve-racking screech as if a chair was dragged across the floor by a child. Severus’ eyes went up to the ceiling, then he sighed. “How about a walk?” he suggested.

She looked up in surprise. “No lessons?”

“We can do that while we’re walking”, he said matter-of-factly, “plus, I have to get something from a certain spot. It’s not far.”

A thud from above.

Elena nodded firmly. She was actually excited. How many women, after all, had ever been asked by Severus Snape to walk with him in the moonlight?

 


	16. Masks

**Masks**

 

As it turned out, there was not much of a moonlight, the night sky being overhung with heavy clouds. The cold air had a nasty bite although only a few dirty patches of snow had survived the last couple of days. They crossed the nearby smelly river and walked across a soggy meadow towards the woods where they had often gone to practice fighting spells. This time, however, Severus took Elena in a different direction. It didn’t occur to him, of course, to inform her on their destination. She didn’t care much, though, as she would have walked to the North Pole with him.

For a while, they proceeded in silence, side by side. When Elena risked a glance at Severus, she noticed that he had turned his face skywards. His eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply, as if he enjoyed the walk and maybe her company, too. She wondered whether she could risk asking about his mother, but then decided against it, resolving that this relaxed and easy atmosphere she sensed between him and herself was too precious to ruin. And as it happened, he was the first to break the silence.

“You did very well today.”

She turned her head sharply. “What d’you mean?”

“What do I mean? Occlumency, of course.”

In spite of herself, she chuckled and he glared at her, irritated. “I’m sorry”, she breathed, “it’s just … this must have been the first time you paid me a compliment on my magical performance without me fishing for it.”

“That’s not true”, he claimed lamely, “I say it all the time.”

“Define ‘all the time’.”

“Why don’t _you_ define ‘desperate need for recognition’?”

“Anyway, I don’t think I did as well as you say.”

He snorted. “Talking to me in my head? – How did you do that, anyway?”

Elena stared at him blankly. “Just tried. I had the feeling you were open for it. What’s so special about it, anyway?”

Even in the dark, she could detect the glitter in his black eyes as he scrutinized her. She could also see that he was thinking, but it took a while until he spoke. “I’ll say this for you: you don’t use your mind as often and as well as you could …”

“Oh, thanks!”

“… but you’ve got something else that not many others have. A feeling for the right moment. Maybe what you like to call intuition. It helps you along when you’re too lazy to think or make an effort.”

“I knew there was a catch”, she murmured gloomily, but not very seriously, “not a compliment at all, then, but merely an entry to tell me I’m lazy.”

Now it was his turn to chuckle. “Am I wrong?”

She made a show of turning up her nose. “No comment.”

“This way”, he commanded, pointing at a narrow path that was hardly visible in the darkness, leading into the shrubs. For a brief moment, Elena felt the tips of his fingers at the small of her back as he directed her, but the contact broke sooner than she would have wanted.

For a few minutes, they walked between bushes and young trees until a natural pond came into view. Its surface was black and still, a murky smell rose up from it. Elena watched as Severus came closer to the pond’s rim and started to rummage among grass and reed. He had a small knife that he used to swiftly cut off plants and dug out roots which he then showed to her, explaining what they were and what he would use them for.

“Magical plants in industrial Cokeworth?” she asked with a smile.

He nodded earnestly. “My mother found this place, decades ago. It’s fortunate only Muggles live round here, they won’t steal them away because to them it’s weed.”

Elena saw her chance. “Is she good at this? Your mother?”

“It’s a family thing. Herbs, potions, all that.”

“So you’re not so special”, she said, teasing him.

“Within the Prince bloodline, probably not”, he admitted.

“Is that your mother’s maiden name? Prince?”

Severus nodded while sorting the plants in his hands, and he did so almost tenderly. “Today she informed me that she has returned to that name.” He snorted.

“You don’t approve?” Elena observed his face him carefully as it was difficult in the dark to detect any emotional expression.

“I don’t care”, he growled, “she can do as she likes as far as I’m concerned.”

“Then why are you mentioning it?”

He looked up as if caught; smiled tentatively. “It makes no sense.”

She tilted her head, asking him to go on. As always when she sensed that he was in a talkative mood (though ‘talkative’ in Snape’s universe meant something slightly different than for the rest of the world), she felt a shiver of excitement. It was marred, however, by her bad conscience because in listening to what he had to say about his mother, she was also sounding him out.

“You have no idea how often I begged her to leave him”, he went on. There was no need to explain who he was talking about; yet, doing so appeared to embarrass him because he didn’t look at her, but at some elusive point over her shoulder. “Pack up and go back to her family, resume her old name, forget she was ever married to my father. She wouldn’t have it. Said she became a Snape when she married him and she’d made her bed, hence she would lie in it. – So I’m wondering why she bothers now. After so many years, and with my father long dead.”

“Maybe it’s only now that she _feels_ free?” Elena suggested, resorting to instant psychology.

“What the hell do I know?” he mumbled, his need to talk suddenly terminated, and turned once more towards the pond.

Elena watched him turn up the sleeves of this robes over his elbows. It was in that moment that the heavy clouds parted slightly and in a vague moonlight, she saw a blackish shadow on the gleaming white skin of his left forearm. With a start, she realized that it must be the Dark Mark. She had never seen it before, not even during that night in the lighthouse when she had been too busy with other kinds of impressions. Severus knelt down by the pond, stuck both his arms – and the Dark Mark – into the black water and Elena saw him groping for something under its surface. What he brought up looked like algae, slimy and dark green. He explained to Elena that it was a native type of Gillyweed, not as good as the one from the Mediterranean which he would have preferred but which was often already rotting from within by the time it arrived in the shops. Then he noticed Elena’s blank face, realized that she had no idea what Gillyweed was and sighed deeply. “What do you have your new friend for when you don’t learn anything from her?” he nagged.

Elena grinned at him. “You know, she offered me to help in the family business to earn a little wizarding money. Picking herbs and stuff. The Clearys have a Potions shop on Diagon Alley.”

“I’ve heard.” He made a point of appearing disinterested.

“They’re struggling”, Elena went on.

“I’m not surprised. It takes a lot of stamina to establish a business in Diagon Alley, and I’m not sure Castor Cleary has it.”

“Cassie says his stamina is fine, but he could do with a couple of customers who trust him.” Elena looked at Severus pointedly, but he immediately raised a defensive hand.

“I’ve been using the same shop for decades, have no reason to switch”, he pressed forth between his teeth, and it sounded final.

Elena frowned at him. “Yes, I guess you’re not exactly the flexible kind.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She merely winked and he twitched uncomfortably, preparing a repartee in his mind.

“Well, in any case, it’s not a bad idea, you helping in the Cleary business. Maybe it’ll provide you with some herbological understanding and hence improve your potions performance. And since they do not appear to be concerned that you might crash their business …”

“I beg your pardon?!?”

As she glowered at him playfully, something very rare happened; he looked up at her with a broad grin on his face. In spite of the darkness that was hardly broken by their combined _Lumi_ , she noticed – as she had before, and each time with her heart beat speeding up – that smiling strongly improved his looks. Probably, no ordinary person would have said that it made him handsome, but in Elena’s mind it was quite true.

“You’re a cad, Severus Snape”, she said, but it came out quite gently which he must have noticed because he allowed his eyes to catch hers, and as frequently happened between them in such moments, time appeared to stop or at least pass slower as they both struggled to snap out of it while not really wanting to snap out of it.

From afar, a ferocious bark could be heard and they both turned their heads, breaking eye contact.

“Let’s go”, Snape said quietly, “I have no wish to run into a cur walking its Muggle.”

“A _what_?” she asked, closing up to him as they moved away from the pond.

“A cur”, he repeated, amused, “word for ‘dog’”.

“You don’t like dogs?”

“Not very much, no”, he responded, remembering a very specific dog by the name of Padfoot.

They squeezed past the shrubs and young trees until they found the path by which they had come. No one seemed to be about, neither person nor dog, and so they walked on while Snape was still arranging the plants he had picked in a cloth bag he had conjured out of the depths of his robes. When Elena looked up at the night sky, it appeared to have become even cloudier and the dark grey masses overhead moved against each other threateningly. Not a scrap of sky was visible and certainly no stars. The path ahead of her she could only see thanks to her _Lumos_ , as Snape had extinguished his. He seemed altogether more comfortable in the dark, while Elena’s hair stood on edge for reasons that she could not fathom. She kept close to his side and felt the urge to take his arm, to press her face against his shoulder, but she didn’t quite dare. Below their soles, gravel and pinafore needles were crunched, but that was the only sound apart from a sharp cold wind rustling the trees.

Then the bark came back.

It was much closer now and a strange kind of instinct made Severus and Elena slow down their pace. Their eyes met, asking each other a silent question, but also looking for reassurance. Hesitantly, they started to move again, more alert now, their eyes scanning the dark night.

Suddenly, the atmosphere changed.

Elena perceived it as an increased pressure on her eardrums. At the same time, her skin started to tingle and all her senses screamed ‘danger!’. Instinctively, she reached out to grab Severus’ arm, only to find that his body had stiffened and that he’d got out his wand.

“Stay close”, he snarled unnecessarily.

They were upon them within seconds, materialized – seemingly – out of thin air. Dark-clad figures, maybe half a dozen of them or more, enclosing or rather trapping Snape and Elena in a circle. The pressure in the air increased, bearing down on them and accompanied by the deafening noise of angry barks. The moment Elena saw the dogs, she started to whimper. They looked like hounds out of hell. Even in the dark, she could see their furious bloodshot eyes that were more purple than red, and their bared sharp fangs – fangs as she had never seen them, huge and ragged – with viscous strings of saliva jittering between them. These weren’t ordinary dogs, but magical ones, each of them a Cerberus. They tore at long leather leashes that their owners seemed only just able to hold on to, owners in long cloaks wearing masks. Burying her face at Severus’ shoulder, she squinted at the masks and realized at the periphery of her mind that they were golden and had jackal shapes, Egyptian style.

She felt Severus’ hand grabbing her wrist as he pulled her behind himself, shielding her with his body. She felt his tension, a trembling even; heard him murmur an incantation, but whatever he tried doing did not appear to work.

“Disapparate!” she coughed.

His reply was no more than a wheeze. “Can’t.”

She understood. The atmosphere was laden with dark magic. Probably it was a ban of sorts, kept up around them by the circle of figures and madly barking dogs that closed in on them. Those dogs … why did she have the feeling that they had it in for her specifically, that merely looking at her made them ever wilder as they struggled against their leashes? A green jet issued from Snape’s wand, hitting one of the salivating snouts. The dog yelped, then resumed its barking with increased ferocity as it jumped up on its hind legs and bared its fangs, threating to bite Snape’s hand off. He stumbled back, pushing Elena with him.

“What is the meaning of this?!?” he demanded furiously, but over the mad snarling and barking his words could hardly be heard and sounded feeble.

Behind his back, his hand was still clamped around her wrist, and she dug her fingers into the cloth of his robes. One of the dogs in her back had come dangerously close and snarled at her, as if it had a private threatening message. “Fuck off!” Elena hissed at it. It was like a trigger. The dog leaped forward, being given a degree of freedom by the person that held its leash, and bit into Elena’s cloak, tearing at it viciously. She squealed and another green jet hit the dog, which made it retreat for a second, only to start on a new attack that would have been successful had the leash not been tightened and the beast pulled back.

 _“Hold on, Snape!”_ The voice was a hoarse rasp and hard to locate due to the masks. It could have come from any of the figures, or out of the air for all they knew. _“The more you resist, the worse this is going to get!”_

“Show your faces, you bunch of cowards!!” Severus bellowed, but Elena knew him well enough to hear the fear in his voice.

Harsh laughter responded and the barking, too, acquired a derisive note.

Snape tried again. “Leave _her_ alone, at least!!” he shouted with all the authority that he was able to muster. “Whatever you want, you want it from _me_ , not her!”

Another bout of laughter and snarls.

The circle of bodies moved further in on them. Elena was now hardly able to stand up; she didn’t feel her knees anymore and she summoned all her will to look away, not to meet the purple eyes of a hellhound. However, she felt them sniffing her, taking up her scent, and it brought them on the brink of a complete freak-out.

While they stood surrounded, clinging to each other, every second that passed stretched into eternity. Only when they both fully expected to be torn apart by the dogs in the very next moment, they heard a voice. It was the same voice that they had heard before, hoarse and impossible to identify as it sounded somewhat distorted, but menacing, hissing like a snake.

_“My, my. The great Severus Snape. As incapable as a Muggle. And that’s supposed to be the wizarding world’s hero?”_

Sniggers abounded. Wheezing snarls from leash-impaired throats followed.

_“Remember this moment, Snape. Remember how useless you are when duped. Great dark wizard you may be, but what can you do when dark magic conspires against you?”_

Snape didn’t reply, he was as stiff as a board. Her face pressed against his back, Elena could feel him swallowing hard. He was completely at a loss on what to do.

The hoarse voice went on. _“This is no more than a warning. A warning to leave the fate of the wizarding world be. You have done your part, your kind belongs into the past. So you better stay there, and if you want to have a peaceful life, don’t meddle. We know everything about you. All of the Half-Blood Prince’s darkest secrets. And we have the power to destroy you, and those close to you. So keep your large nose out of things! We will know when you don’t, because we have our eyes on you, and be assured: next time we’ll have your little Muggle girl ripped apart in front of your eyes!”_

As if to prove a point, one of the dogs shot forward, dragging a slackened leash behind it. It attacked, growling and blind with anger. As Snape stumbled back, Elena fell with him. She felt the claws of the beast on her, its foul breath in her face, and knew that the next thing would be the huge fangs biting into her flesh, tearing bit by bit from her bones until she’d be no more than a bloodied mass.

There was a horrible high-pitched wailing in her ears. She didn’t know where it came from, but it went on and on, deafening and nerve-racking. It ripped her apart, in much the same way as the fangs would any moment now …

Hands grabbed her by the shoulders, shook her fiercely.

“Stop it! Elena! STOP IT!!”

She looked up with wild eyes. Suddenly she realized that the high-pitched wailing was her own scream. All the same, it took quite an effort for her to turn it off, but when she did, everything was quiet. The masked figures and the hellhounds had vanished. There were only the nightly woods, the clouded sky and Severus bending over her, trying to shake her to her senses.

“They’re gone”, he whispered urgently. “Calm down, they’re gone.”

The realization came slowly. She was as if frozen and needed his help to get up from the soggy ground. Then, suddenly, all the tension fell from her and transformed into a huge sob that forced its way up from her throat. And although her better and more rational self knew that this was childish and pitiful, she collapsed against his chest and started to cry.

Once she’d started, she could not stop herself. Within a short time, the front of his robe was soaked. Yet, he held her tightly in his arms, and even through her shock Elena distinctly noticed his fingers caressing the scalp beneath her hair. He was murmuring softly and soothingly, but from his trembling frame she knew that he was consoling himself as much as her.

Then she felt him wave his wand behind her back, there was a crack and in the next moment they were at Spinner’s End. Severus loosened his grip around her, but took her hand instead. His face was distraught and extremely pale in the orange light of the streetlamps as he led her towards his house.

They had hardly entered the hallway, when Eileen Snape hurried down the stairs, apprehension on her face. “What happened?” she demanded, immediately sensing their shock if it was not plainly visible on their faces. Almost automatically, Severus’ arm went around Elena, as if he still felt the need to shield her from a lurking outside danger.

“We were attacked”, he snarled, “please leave us alone.” With that, he pulled Elena with him into the sitting room, firmly closing the door behind him and ignoring his mother’s protests to bloody wait and tell her what in Hecate’s name had happened.

Severus sat Elena down on the couch, perched on the edge beside her and let his hands glide over her face, her upper body, looking for injuries. She had stopped crying, and instead stared ahead blankly.

“Did that beast get you?” he asked urgently, because this was the best way he knew to deal with his own shock and regain control, playing the healer, focussing on the immediate.

“I don’t think so”, she murmured. And after a while. “But _you_ are bleeding.”

Severus hadn’t noticed it. There were bite marks on the cuff of his robes, and blood was seeping through. He didn’t even remember when the creature had bit him, so deep was his shock. However, his rational mind was still, in a manner, alert. He jumped up, hurried to his desk and got out a kit from one of the drawers. With pincers, he lifted dog hair from his sleeve. With a fine pipet, he rescued a half dried foam that was very likely dog saliva, and after a few more samples stored all this safely away to be inspected later. The worst of the wound he dealt with quickly by means of his wand, saving greater care for later, as well.

When he turned back to Elena, she still sat unmoving, eyes empty and staring into nothingness. It made him frown with worry. He had not seen her like this, almost catatonic. Carefully, Severus sat down next to her again, but it hardly seemed to register. For a long time, he just stared at her, not knowing what to do, suddenly blocked.

Eventually, she spoke. “Maybe I should just go back home. I’m not made for all this.”

The flat tone of her voice gave him a jolt even before the contents of her words hit home. He knew that with ‘back home’ she didn’t mean the Crawford house, but Vienna, Austria. He had hardly ever made it clear to himself that she was only in this country temporarily, that actually she might go back at any time and that in fact this might provide her with a solution to the problems he was constantly involving her in. What could he possibly say? He should really congratulate her on the idea, but his immediate urge was to protest, ‘You want to leave me? What happened to you being in love with me??’ He saw how egoistic that was. At the same time, he already felt deserted, but firmly pushed the painful emotion out of his mind, wondering instead what he could say to her to make her snap out of this mood. The problem was, he had no idea.

As he continued to stare at her – face and eyes blank, seemingly unaware of his presence – he had a rare intuition. Suddenly, it was obvious to him what she needed and by some saving grace it was so obvious that he didn’t even hesitate. Carefully, he reached out, took both her hands in his. Her ice-cold fingers didn’t respond, but she didn’t resist, either. He edged closer, pulled her hands on his lap. A part of him observed this action, watched his own hands handling hers, and marvelled at the uncharacteristic forwardness, but it didn’t stop him from going on with it. His thumbs stroked the backs of her hands. When she still didn’t look at him, he slowly lifted her hands to his mouth and lightly touched his lips to them. – Was he really doing this? The new attack must have upset something in him …

When he looked up again, he met her gaze. The strain was visible on her face now, but there was also the shadow of a smile around her mouth. He set her hands back down, reached out for her shoulder. His original intention was no more than a protective gesture, but he’d discounted her affectionate nature. With a swift and determined movement, she was in his arms, buried her face at his neck and issued a deep shuddering sigh. Severus was a little overwhelmed at first, but then the scent of her hair invaded his nostrils, and his body recognized the scent at once, it pushed him into a different mode where his shock was a mere memory, and he warily watched his arms encircling her while he felt hers sneaking around his waist, and in the next moment he was greedily inhaling her scent, noticing by her deep breathing that she did the same, that she had the same need to take him into her, and that realization made him … dizzy, lightheaded … perhaps a little mad even … in any case he felt that his body reacted with the acuteness of someone much younger. He allowed himself a tiny moan as he held her tighter, and she responded with another drawn-out sigh.

They sat for quite a long time, embracing. Again and again, he asked himself ‘What am I doing?’, but found he couldn’t not do it. Eventually, she giggled softly into his ear. “The things we’re getting into …”

Of course he knew what she was alluding to. Extreme situations, and what followed …

“Yes”, he rasped, because suddenly her lips were on his neck, along with her hot breath, just above his scar. Tiny plump cushions – he’d had that thought before – moving slowly up, then down his jawline, their destination quite clear, and in spite of himself he felt his own mouth open slightly, felt his tongue squirm expectantly. His conscious mind tried to remind him that he had nothing to give to this woman other than his dreary life that was so overloaded with problems and demons of the past, and that it was hence unfair to take advantage of her, particularly after she’d asked him not to play with her … but his self-control was still in hiding somewhere … what was left of him basked in the embrace and couldn’t believe how good it felt, tenderness, closeness, things he had frequently sneered at as overrated and reserved for sissies. Now he found that the way her hands moved possessively over his back was enough to sweep him away.

A sharp knock on the door tore them apart.

Severus gasped for air, and at the same time felt an unfamiliar urge to burst out laughing. Of course, something like this had to happen! He saw the irritated pout on Elena’s face before he wheeled around at the opening door.

He started to flare, “Mother, didn’t I tell you …”

“ _Excuse_ me, but I _have_ to know!” Eileen broke in ferociously. With a cold eye, she surveyed the situation, their closeness on the sofa, and she twitched. “Can’t blame me for worrying, can you?”

“Of course not, Madam”, Elena said, an amiable smile on her face (that Severus noticed with some alarm), “we’re fine. We just had a scare.”

Eileen shot her an icy look. “I see.” She turned towards her son and her keen eye detected the problem at once. “What happened to your arm?”

“Got bitten”, Snape replied curtly, “by a dog.”

“A _dog_?”

“Well, more like a hellhound.”

Eileen’s eyebrows went up, cottoning on quickly. “You mean … as with the satyrs?”

“Probably.”

“Have you taken …”

“Yes.”

Elena had followed the exchange with increasing confusion. “What’s that?” she asked.

“I found out something about the satyrs”, Severus explained, “that might apply to those hounds, as well. You have to know that it is not so easy to come by such creatures. They’re expensive. Way too expensive for no more than a scare.”

Elena frowned. “I don’t understand …”

“Of course you don’t”, Eileen sighed, then focussed on Severus again. “Let me take a look at your wound.”

He shot up from the sofa, realizing that he had to face this situation head-on. Firmly, he grabbed his mother’s elbow and led her to the door. “I told you to leave us alone”, he hissed at her, “she’s had a scare, she needs to calm down.”

“She seems calm enough to me”, Eileen hissed back with glittering eyes.

“Those dogs had it in for her, you have no idea …”

“Well, dogs don’t like anything cattish …”

“That’s enough!”

Eileen yanked her elbow out of his grip and turned to the room. “Let me at least make your friend a sleeping draught, if she’s so upset”, she offered with false brightness.

“You’re not making her _anything_!” Snape spat viciously. He hadn’t bothered anymore to keep his voice down, and it made Elena sit up in astonishment. He opened the sitting-room door and firmly shoved his mother out, sealing the door with a spell as soon as he had closed it.

“Aren’t you exaggerating?” Elena demanded.

“No.”

“She was worried.”

“She was meddling.”

Elena smiled ruefully. “She also sobered us up a little.”

She was right. The moment had passed. Severus sat down again, but this time he chose the closest armchair. “It’s impossible”, he grouched, “I’m almost forty years old and living with my mother …”

“I’m sure she means well”, Elena said evenly.

“You obviously don’t know her”, he replied gloomily, then scrutinized her face. “You seem better”, he observed. In fact, the catatonic state had abated. Her hands still shook a little, but the eyes were more alert and he wondered whether this was the effect of the tenderness they had briefly shared. Or probably more of his mother barging in at the most inopportune moment …

“I was as if in a daze”, Elena admitted, “those dogs … there was something about those dogs …” Her face became serious as she remembered something. “What was it you found out about the satyrs?”

“I believe they were manufactured”, Snape explained eagerly, glad to have something to tell her about. “Making living creatures by magic is very Dark Arts. And if I’m right, they have been made by the score.”

“ _Made_? You mean, like … a Golem?”

“Not a bad comparison, actually. The magical processes involved might be quite similar. However, the material is peculiar.”

“Peculiar how?”

“A Golem is made of earth and mud. The substance used for the satyrs, however, appears to be synthetic. And then again, not.”

Elena digested this. “Genetically engineered, perhaps?”

Severus looked up. “What do you know about this?”

She shrugged. “Not much. It’s a technology used to change the genetic make-up of living organisms by transferring genomes and creating new organisms or properties of organisms.”

“For instance, make the skin tougher to fare better in a hostile climate?”

“Yeah, I think. I could find out more if you want to …”

“You might find out how far these technologies have developed.”

“I might”, she admitted, “but I’m afraid it’s difficult in that field. There’s a lot of ethical discussion, you know, and hence legal restrictions. So there might be some difference in what is officially feasible and what _can_ actually be done behind closed doors.”

Severus smiled crookedly. “Are we talking about the Dark Arts of the Muggle world, then?”

“Yeah, you could say that it is, along with nuclear and weapon technology, whale hunting, human trafficking …”

“Alright, I get it. – Anyway, we might be looking at something like that.”

“Interesting”, she said, “but we’re really beating about the bush here, aren’t we?”

He looked at her guardedly.

“We’re not talking about _the thing_. Guys in masks.”

“I didn’t want to take you back so soon”, he acknowledged and she gave him a tender smile in return before her face turned serious. “Jackal masks, right, like some Egyptian god?”

“Anubis”, growled Snape, “the Lord of Death.”

“Charming.”

“Cowardly, I call it. Weak attempt to instil fear.”

Elena scoffed. “It worked for me!”

Snape didn’t reply at first, then said, “Well, scary it may have been. But it wasn’t anything new, really. I have already been informed that I am to be punished in some manner, that my reputation is to be ruined ‘beyond repair’. What we experienced was merely a personal delivery of that message.”

Elena raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you trying to be cool?”

“Not at all. I’m trying to analyse what happened. The only new thing was that there is a condition: I’m to be punished only if I don’t … well, behave myself …”

“So things are really looking up?” she asked with a harried smile.

“One could look at it that way.”

“But is it likely? That you’re going to … behave yourself?”

“It’s tempting”, he responded, then again pondered for a while before he went on. “I’ve done my part, haven’t I? There’s a point when a guy deserves some rest.”

“You certainly do.”

They exchanged glances, and Elena’s was ironic in a kind way, asking him a question. He knew what the question was, but hesitated. “You’re right”, he said eventually, “it’s not very likely.”

“Here we go”, she sighed.

He watched her face attentively. “Maybe you _should_ go back home.”

“D’you want to get rid of me?” she asked as quickly as a whip.

“ _You_ said that!”

“Really? I don’t remember.” She made a dismissive gesture that made a crooked smile play around Snape’s lips.

“But mind you, I’m totally open for any plans of absconding.”

“ _Absconding_?”

“Isn’t that the right word? – I mean we could just take off, you and me. Go abroad, for instance. Like you said, you did your part. You could just tell the British wizarding world to go screw itself and take off to pastures new.”

“Where, for instance?”

“How about …”, she made a funny face that signalled deep thought, “.. how about the Tyrolean Alps? I have an uncle who’s a dairyman and shepherd there. He could find us a cottage, and noone’d look for us.”

“Sounds very Arcadian.”

“Don’t make fun of it!” she warned him in mock-outrage, already loving the fantasy. “Who’d search for you in the Austrian mountains? And you’d like it there, I’m sure. It’s all edgy, bleak and deep, a bit like you …”

“Oh, thank you.”

“… and very beautiful if you know how to look at it. – No, indulge me! And picture it, a snowstorm on a stormy night, the mountains filling up with snow, but there’s a fire in the hearth and a warm bed, and we look outside through a tiny window …”

Her eyes danced over him playfully, and he couldn’t believe how she could flirt like that, so shortly after what had happened, but it wasn’t so much that he resented it than envied her, for the growing tension inevitably made him search for the right words and dismiss most of them in the process, leaving him sadly mute. Yes, he _did_ think that she was a bit brazen; in Elena’s mind, her recent confession of love obviously gave her license to show him openly that she wanted him, and he wasn’t used to that at all. At the same time, he found his ego peculiarly flattered by being _pursued_.

“Let’s get serious”, he said.

“If you insist …” Her face changed and became straight. “And there _is_ something I was going to ask you …”

“Yes?”

She took a deep breath. “Why did you tell your mother like that not to make me _anything_? I mean, not even a sleeping draught?”

There was no visible reaction to her question at first. He might not have heard or simply faked not to. Elena had already convinced herself that he would not reply – for one of a thousand of his personal reasons, for instance – when he did, and his voice was very quiet, almost lazy, and his eyes a black night in Siberia.

“I said that because” – he stopped for a beat – “because my mother is a poisoner.”

 

* * *

 

Elena stared at Severus, aghast.

“Why are you saying that?” she whispered without thinking.

“‘Cause it’s true”, he replied curtly without looking at her.

What she had really meant was ‘Why are you telling me this?’, but she guessed that he had deliberately misunderstood her. Again, she felt his need to share and although the realization didn’t fail to make her excited, she also shifted uncomfortably on the couch. Here she was, urged by McVey to find out more about Eileen Snape, and now Severus was telling her just that. It made her conscience as heavy as a solid rock and she wasn’t able to say anything for a while.

“I know what you’re thinking”, Snape stated coolly, “like mother, like son.”

“I was thinking no such thing!”

“No? – But it would be correct.”

“She poisoned your father?” Elena asked. Again, she had spoken without thinking too much apart from putting two and two together, what he had told her and the rumours that she’d heard. The effect on him was surprising. He looked up with narrowed eyes and obvious alarm on his face.

“You _know_?”

“No, no, that’s not it, it’s just …”, she broke off, confused, wondering how to talk herself out of it, “it’s something my aunt told me …”

“Your aunt”, repeated Snape, not in the least at ease.

“When I met you”, Elena went on to explain, “she mentioned once that she talked to your mother, years and years ago. Asked her how she was, to which your mother replied that she’d be ‘very fine very soon’. Your father died pretty soon after that.”

She saw him swallow; also, he had started to frantically flex his fingers.

“Don’t worry”, Elena said quickly. “I don’t think my aunt thinks that she offed him; only with what you said right now it suddenly makes sense …”

“I see.” There was a sigh of relief in his voice.

Elena observed him closely. He was staring at his flexing fingers, refusing to meet her gaze. It also appeared as if he had no intention of telling her more, so she resolved to do some prompting.

“Why?” she asked simply.

“I have no idea”, he responded, then got up from his armchair and started to pace towards the window, out of which he stared for some time before he paced back. Conflicting emotions crossed his face, which was telling in itself as he was usually the master of impassive expressions. Elena saw that he was preparing to tell her more, that she didn’t have to press him and that it would come eventually. Part of her wanted to tell him not to say anymore, that she didn’t want to know. The problem was that she did.

“It was about eight years ago”, Severus started; he had composed himself, his voice was silky again and the tremor in his words detectable only to someone who knew him. “I hadn’t been home for years at that point, because of … well, _him_ … and because I was preparing myself for … you know. – One day, I received an owl from my mother. She informed me quite matter-of-factly that my father had contracted a bad case of pneumonia, that he’d seen a doctor far too late – I knew he wouldn’t be treated by magic, wouldn’t have allowed it – and that there was nothing to be done, he’d die, and I should not concern myself, there was no need to come home. – Actually, if she hadn’t written that, I would never have come. But the fact that she did made me … suspicious? I don’t know, I had a funny feeling.” Another hard swallow interrupted his story, while Elena continued to watch him. “So I went home. She was … well, to say that she was surprised to see me is putting it mildly. To me it was obvious that she hadn’t counted on my appearance, that really she had wanted to discourage it. She said time and again that there was no need to look in on my father. I went to see him, anyway. He lay on that couch”, Severus pointed at the place where Elena was sitting, “and he looked a sight.” He shook himself. “Ghastly. I knew at once that he was dying.”

Severus stared into nothingness. His eyes were empty, but Elena got a sense of the shock he’d had all these years ago, a shock probably that he had never really wanted to admit to himself.

“That wasn’t all, however”, Snape went on gloomily. “The second he saw me, he started to plead. To do something, to save him. ‘She’s poisoning me’, he said again and again. ‘She can’t have her way, and now she’s killing me.’ – I smelt his breath then, and …” He broke off.

Elena watched as he sat down slowly. He looked as if his joints ached while he was doing it. Still, he didn’t look at her which told her something about the degree of shame he associated with the experience.

“You see, there are originally two kinds of salvia or sage”, when he took up the thread again, his voice sounded more sober, “a magical kind which is a potent cure against pneumonia and lung diseases, and the Muggle kind, which I understand works quite well against a common sore throat. – However, there is a third kind, a hybrid produced by cross-breeding the first two. The result is called _Devil’s Sage_. It doesn’t propagate and is thus rare, but it is also highly dangerous and aggressive. Instead of curing the respiratory system, it damages it; brings on a fierce form of pneumonia rather than curing it. And it has a very peculiar smell …”

“Does your mother know about the Devil’s Sage?”

Severus scoffed. “Does she know about it? She told me about it! Showed me all the spots! One of them … yes, you have probably guessed, that pond we went to tonight. Ties in neatly, doesn’t it? That’s exactly what I was thinking then.”

Elena was speechless for a while. “You couldn’t cure him?” she asked eventually.

Snape shook his head. Was she wrong or did he look sad, shaken even? All she had heard about his father so far was what a horrible person he’d been and how much Severus had hated him. However, it was dawning on her that the sentiment had, well, maybe not changed, but acquired a new aspect in the last moments of Tobias Snape’s life.

“What did you do? Did you confront your mother?”

He jerked his chin in confirmation.

“And?”

“Denied it. Denies it to this day.”

“But how can she deny it? With the Devil’s Sage and the spot she knows for it …”

“Yes”, he interjected bitterly.

“… and then there was a motive, if I’m not mistaken?”

“Yeah.” It was a sarcastic scoff. “Some motive she had. And believe me, there used to be a time when I would have congratulated her on the decision to bring about his demise, but …”

“But?”

“Why then? That’s what I was never able to find out. About thirty years she’d stuck it out with him, refused to leave him for reasons that were flimsy and hypocritical at best, and then, suddenly, she poisons him!”

Elena sought carefully to find the right words for what she wanted to ask next. “Were there any … consequences?”

“You mean, did I report her? Of course not. She’s my mother. I couldn’t report her for killing a man on whose hands she had suffered for decades! And yet …”

“Yet it shocked you.”

“I don’t know what really shocked me so much. The point in time? The manner? A poisoning by Devil’s Sage is very painful, agonizing even. I just never expected that she would do a thing like that.”

“How did she react? When he died?”

“Cried for days on end.” Severus raised his shoulders in a clueless shrug that would have been funny in any other context.

Now that was peculiar. Crying for a husband who had abused you for decades? It did nothing to give Elena a clearer picture of Eileen Snape; if anything, it became vaguer.

“Since you were asking about consequences”, Severus went on, getting up from the armchair again as it was obviously difficult for him to stay calm, “ _my_ consequence was to insist that my mother and I go separate ways from that time on. In fact, we agreed that we would never meet each other again. That was my punishment, and as you can see she completely ignores it. I don’t even get the feeling that she has a bad conscience! Whenever I start on the subject, she evades it or rebukes me for dwelling in the past. – By all rights, I should throw her out. That, however …” He closed his mouth to a thin line.

“Of course you can’t throw her out”, Elena said gently, “she’s your mother.”

“And as you know, someone like me cannot really claim that they cannot be expected to live under the same room as a murderess, because _I_ am no less than a murderer myself …”

“Come on!” Elena cried. “That is …”

“Different?” A sardonic black flash from his eyes. “How?”

She didn’t know what to say. Then, however, her mind took her back to her original question. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“Do you remember what we were told? By that voice? – Bad imitation of the Dark Lord’s voice, by the way, another cheap try at instilling fear …”

“Like I said, it did the trick for me. – But what exactly are you referring to?”

“That they know about all the Half-Blood Prince’s dark secrets? Secrets that could ruin him and those close to him? – The Half-Blood Prince, that’s me.”

Elena thought about this for a while and eventually discovered the play on his mother’s maiden name. “Are you known by that name?”

“To some. It’s a kind of inside knowledge, though. Which makes me wonder whether someone might know.”

“You fear they might be trying to blackmail you about what your mother did”, Elena drew the inevitable conclusion. “But how might anyone know?”

“Again, I have no idea. However, I know from experience that secrets have a tendency to get out. And the whole situation, her being here and refusing to leave, and now of all times …”

“You think there is a connection?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Severus had taken to pacing the room again, but eventually stood still and stared ahead of himself. He looked confused and forlorn. Elena would have liked nothing better than to console him, but she found that she couldn’t. It would have made her feel like a hypocrite. At the same time, the fact that he had told her this secret, this very personal detail of his very private life, touched her deeply.

In this moment, she made up her mind. She would call off her agreement with McVey, tell him that she refused to snoop into Snape’s or his family’s life only to ‘help him’ in that vague way the peculiar goblin-slash-wizard had suggested. She told herself that the best – and most honest – way of helping Severus was to be loyal and open towards him and not harbour any secret schemes. She had learnt today how important trust was to him, and now he trusted her by telling her the harrowing story of his father’s death. There was no way she could find it in her heart to betray him.

She looked up suddenly when she felt his eyes resting on her.

“You won’t tell, will you?” There was a pleading note in his voice.

“No, Severus, I won’t”, she promised, looking into his eyes. “I promise you I will never do anything that might get you into trouble. Even less so after today.”

Their gazes engaged and once more it was nigh impossible to break the contact. Severus’ glare was particularly intense and at first he seemed to scowl. However, after a while she saw that it was only raw emotion; and gradually, the tension dropped. Then, very slowly, a smile came to his face while he held on to her gaze as if for dear life. The smile was grateful and almost gentle. It made her heart beat so madly she was on the brink of a hiccup.

 

 


	17. Reflections and Research

**Reflections and Research**

 

The scare of the hellhound attack remained with Elena for quite a number of days. By the time Severus had taken her home that night, she had believed that it was over and the shock had worn off. It only proved that she knew nothing about scares yet.

In the following nights, the hellhounds came back in her dreams. They cornered her, fixed her with their unnaturally violet eyes, growled and sniffed her up. Every time the dreams inevitably brought her to the point where she expected the bite any second, could in fact feel the tips of the ragged fangs scraping her skin. And every time she woke up with a jolt, heart drumming, lungs pumping, only just able to stifle a scream. It was the memory of Severus holding her in his arms and soothing her that calmed her down enough so she was eventually able to go back to sleep.

However, she noticed, too, how her psychological make-up was beginning to change. When she mused about what had happened, she felt that she was beginning to resign herself to the dangers of the wizarding world. Not that she liked them or couldn’t have done without them; but she started to accept them as part of a much harsher reality than the one she had known in her Muggle life. Being a witch was great, one of the best things that had ever happened to her; but it came at a price. Yet, even if it had been possible she would never have given up her magical powers only to have a more quiet life. After all, she decided whenever she thought about all this, life wasn’t about peace and quiet, it was about being lived fully, ups and downs, scares and tenderness included.

She was thinking about all this a few days after the incident of the hellhounds, and at a quite uncharacteristic hour. Cassie Cleary had repeated her offer that Elena accompany her and help her as she went picking herbs, and after the third time round Elena had felt that she could not let her new friend wait any longer. It wasn’t that she was uninterested, the actual problem being that Cassie insisted on going herb hunting before the crack of dawn. Elena was anything but an early bird.

However, she managed somehow and so, one very early morning, she found herself in some marshland where plants sprouted wildly on soft breeding soil. Her otherwise so happy-go-lucky friend became very serious as soon as they arrived. She showed Elena the plants that she wanted, equipped her with a small knife and sent her hunting, and for a while they searched in silence, backs bent, in the bitterly cold pre-morning air. The job they were doing reminded Elena of Severus, of course, folding up the sleeves of his robes – exposing the eerie-looking Dark Mark – and groping in black pond water.

She straightened up, her eyes searching for Cassie. “Is it true that Gillyweed is hard to …”

“Shshsh!” Cassie hissed. “Don’t wake up the plants before you cut them! That’s cruel!”

“Oh!” Elena clamped her mouth shut and went on with her work.

Only when the first strip of light appeared on the horizon did Cassie put a stop to their activities and announced that they should go back. “I’m sure Janie made breakfast for us”, she said with an enticing smile, “I told her to stack up on coffee.”

Elena grinned broadly at that. A cup of good strong coffee was always fine news as far as she was concerned. They walked a little bit further over the soft, wet ground and much as Severus had done on their trip to the pond, Cassie explained the plants they had just picked, what they were for and why it was important to cut them before dawn. Elena listened politely and not without interest, but there was no denying that she just wasn’t the plant type. She forgot the different species easily or mixed them up. From Cassie’s determined face, however, she knew that her friend would not give up on her so easily. On the plus side, Cassandra Cleary had far more patience than Severus Snape.

Elena’s new friend was just explaining about a bluish-coloured flower she had found among a heap of weed and that could be used to sweeten particularly bitter potions and make them more agreeable to the stomach, when a ferocious bark rang across the marshland. A violent jolt went through Elena and she turned wildly in all directions.

“What’s wrong?” Cassie asked, irritated.

“Didn’t you hear that?”

“Dog barking”, Cassie said with a shrug, “bloody fascinating.”

In that moment, Elena saw a figure quite a few yards away, walking briskly and with a very jumpy – and probably very young – dog at its side. She exhaled. It was clearly a Muggle, taking an early-morning walk.

“Why are you so pale?” Cassie demanded with a frown of worry on her face.

Elena sighed. “I’ve had a scare”, she intimated and went on to explain to her friend what had happened while they walked a further stretch over the marsh. By the end of her story, Cassie looked glum.

“What’s happening? First satyrs, now hellhounds …”

Elena looked at her sharply, but kept her mouth shut. Telling Cassie about the scare was one thing, but sharing Severus’ theories on the incident quite another. “Something’s clearly going on”, she said in a non-committal manner.

“And masks? Good Lord, that sounds like very recent history!”

“Se… The Professor said something very similar. He said the voice that spoke to us was a clumsy imitation of the way Voldemort spoke. Hissing, like a snake.”

“I remember.” Cassie shuddered visibly.

“I wouldn’t know, of course. The voice reminded _me_ of someone entirely different.”

“Who?”

“Leshnikov. – Well, not the voice, exactly, but the wording. Same cheap threatening sarcasm.”

“How many ways are there to be threatening?”

“Maybe you’re right. Probably most villains aren’t exactly original. And I might only have had that impression because the last time I was that scared was when Leshnikov kidnapped me.” She shook her head. “At least I hope that this is the reason.”

Cassie looked up at her uncertainly. “What d’you mean? That Leshnikov guy’s dead, isn’t he?”

“Very probably”, Elena replied.

“You don’t think that he …”

“Survived? In dragon fire? It’s not very likely; Sev… the Professor said so, too.”

Cassie chuckled. “You know, Elena, you _may_ call him ‘Severus’ in my presence. It won’t make me puke.”

The morning was way too young for Cassie to see her reddening cheeks, and yet Elena sensed that her friend was suppressing a grin.

“Let’s go back”, Cassie said instead, stretching out her hand to Elena, “coffee awaits.”

Elena was glad that Cassie took over the job of Apparating both of them back to Cleary’s potions shop. Her own mind was suddenly occupied and she would probably have done a bad job, having only recently passed her Apparition exam. Who was lurking at the back of her mind was none other than Pavel Volodimir Leshnikov. Ever since the hearing, she had not allowed herself all too many thoughts of him, but now the memory was like a very bad dream that seemed to belong to a different life.

“Next time, we could go by broom”, Cassie suggested as they popped up in Diagon Alley, in close proximity to ‘Cleary’s Clearest Potions’, “I love flying in the morning, it wakes me up.”

“Can’t”, Elena mumbled.

“You can’t ride a broom??” Cassie’s disbelieving stare wasn’t exactly flattering. “Sorry, I keep forgetting that you haven’t been doing all this until a short while ago. But not being able to ride a broom …”

“Get over it”, Elena grumbled, slightly irritated. “At least I can drive a car, which is more than most wizarding folks can say for themselves …”

“You can drive a _car_??” The look of bewilderment in Cassie’s eyes changed to grudging admiration. “Really?”

Elena nodded. “Cars are my world’s brooms.”

“Will you show me? How to drive?”

“Would if I could. I don’t have a car.”

“Maybe we could get one?”

“Where do you want me to get a car if not steal one?”

“We _could_ steal one.”

“Don’t be ridiculous …”

“I’m not, I’m a witch!”

“Bah! Stealing a car …” A flippant remark was on the tip of Elena’s tongue, but it got stuck in her throat.

Something had suddenly occurred to her, something having to do with a car. The idea came very suddenly, but when she looked at it, it was so obvious that she wondered why she hadn’t had it earlier. She wondered whether anyone else might have had it. However, judging from the state of affairs she had recently witnessed, she wouldn’t have been surprised if this wasn’t the case. And she smiled.

“Ah! May I infer from the look on your face that you just had an idea on how to steal a car?”

Elena watched as Cassie unlocked the door to the potions shop with a lazy _Alohomora_. “I might”, she said mysteriously, “I just might.”

As they slipped into the still dark shop, a mixture of smells came wafting towards them. It was not unlike the scent that always lingered in Severus’ robes, slightly sulphuric with a strong herbal note. Vials and jars were lined up on shelves and there was a large wall where all kinds of cauldrons were hung up on hooks for display. Along with all the other instruments necessary for making potions, the shop space looked cramped even in darkness; behind the counter, a narrow corridor led towards a door that was half-open. A cosy glow of light came from it as well as the distinct aroma of coffee, and Elena steered towards it immediately; however, she was held back by Cassie who grabbed her wrist.

“Look! What is _he_ doing out there?”

Cassie was standing by one of the shop windows, peering out of it. Made curious, Elena closed up to her and looked. A few yards away from the shop stood a figure on Diagon Alley where business was only hesitantly coming to life at this early hour. It was the slim figure of a very fair-haired young man in elegant wizarding clothes; he appeared interested in the displays of a neighbouring shop, but his body language bespoke a degree of uncertainty as if he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“Do you know him?” Elena asked with knit eyebrows.

Cassie snorted. “Everyone knows Draco Malfoy!”

“Celebrity, is he?”

“That’s what he likes to think.”

“Thought so”, Elena replied with a hint of satisfaction in her voice. “I met him recently, at the Professor’s. Arrogant brat, if you ask me.”

“But what is he doing here? I mean, he doesn’t exactly look like an early riser, does he?”

“No.” In fact, to Elena Draco looked like someone who’d rather lie in until lunchtime. While watching him, her brows had climbed higher and higher. The young wizard’s presence irked her because she could not explain its purpose and had a funny feeling itching at the back of her head. However, in the next moment the door to the shop the windows of which Draco had admired opened and the young Malfoy was ushered in by an eagerly beckoning arm.

Elena straightened up. A coincidence, after all.

“Girls? What are you doing standing there like that?”

From the rooms behind the counter, a young man had quietly come into the shop space, carrying a _Lumos_ with him. He was quite tall and wore a slightly tattered suit with a jacket that was a little too taut around his athletic shoulders. His eyes and hair were a dark brown and he looked handsome in a way that would bring an unconscious smile to any woman’s lips. Elena felt it come to hers, as well. The Clearys were very clearly a good-looking bunch.

“Observing a Death Eater, sir”, Cassie replied with a mock salute, “you gotta watch those.”

However, Castor Cleary was unimpressed. “Have you got the herbs? ‘Cause if you made a balls-up and I can’t get that special Hair-Raising Potion ready by afternoon, I might as well pack up and close this sorry excuse for a shop!” He cast a small apologetic smile at Elena.

“Never fear, big brother”, Cassie chimed out happily and handed him the bag with the plants they had picked. “Wouldn’t leave you in a lurch, would I?”

But Castor wasn’t mollified. He took the bag and checked on the herbs with a critical look in this eyes. Eventually, however, his expression softened and he nodded. “Good. Go have breakfast, then.” With that, he slouched off towards the set of stairs leading down into the basement where the potions were cooked.

“He’s in a gracious mood”, Cassie remarked, but the smile on her face was good-natured.

“He’s tense”, Elena replied.

“Yeah. He had his eyes on a really huge order, but it didn’t come through at the last moment. Would’ve tied us over for the next few months.” Cassie sighed, suddenly worried.

Elena had an idea. “Do you have Gillyweed? I mean, _good_ Gillyweed. Not the one that rots so quickly …”

“We don’t have stuff that rots!” Cassie declared with a raised chin, but then she became eager. “Sure we do, I got some only days ago and I’m sure its fine. I know of this portkey to La Croix Valmer in the South of France, and there is a wonderful Gillyweed spot …” She interrupted herself, looked at Elena curiously. “For Snape?”

“He’s been complaining about the declining standards in Gillyweed quality”, Elena said haughtily, imitating Severus’ lazy drawl.

Cassie giggled, then ran off only to come back with a knot of a dried kind of algae which she thrust into Elena’s hands. “Tell him it’s a complementary sample. But first and foremost, tell him where it comes from!”

“That’s the idea.”

“You see, if we had someone like Severus Snape as a regular customer …”

“Even with his reputation?”

“What d’you mean, his reputation as a class A potioneer? Believe me, that won’t hurt us at all!” Cassie winked at Elena, then grabbed her hand once more and led her through the shop to the kitchen that lay behind it and where a generous breakfast was being prepared for them. Janie Cleary, Castor’s wife, was working at two fronts simultaneously; at the stove on the one hand preparing scrambled eggs, while on the other labelling trays of flasks and vials of all colours. Her blonde hair was untidily tied up in a knot and her cheeks were flushed. When Cassie and Elena came in, she looked up briefly. “Hi girls. Hungry?”

“You bet!” Cassie made to sit down at the table, but Janie gestured to her hectically, pointing to a little pan on the stove.

“You need to get that down to Castor asap or he’ll freak. He’s close to blowing a fuse, anyway.”

“So I’ve noticed”, murmured Cassie, but took the pan obligingly and left the kitchen.

“Good hunting?” Janie asked Elena.

“Cassie seems to think so, but what do I know?”

Janie grinned. “You know, I can only imagine how confusing all this must be for you. Discovering that there’s a wizarding world and then taking a six-months crash course!”

“Which is still ongoing”, Elena pointed out.

“Your head must be swimming.”

Elena watched Janie who had turned away from the stove and taken up labelling again. She had met Cassie’s sister-in-law only about a week ago, but there had been an instant rapport between them, caused by the fact that they were both Muggle-born and hence lived between two worlds. Janie understood Elena’s daily surprises and confusions in the wizarding world much better than the rest of the Cleary family and hence, Elena was never shy to ask her any questions that popped up in her mind.

“What are those?” she asked, indicating a tray of pink flasks that had already been labelled and were waiting to be taken to the shop.

“Contraceptives”, Janie replied with a look of concentration on her face.

Elena’s eyes widened. “Contra… I didn’t know you had those.”

“Every potions shop has them”, mumbled Janie.

“No, I mean that there is such a thing as contraceptives in the wizarding world …”

“Come on!” Janie said with a good-natured scoff. “I’m sure you heard before that ‘feminine issues’ have always been in the capable hands of witches? Midwifery, birth-control, abortions … that’s one of the reasons why Muggles so much loved to burn us in the Middle Ages.”

“You’re right”, Elena replied. She stared at the pink flasks, but wasn’t really seeing them. Instead, she was thinking about the last time that she’d got her period, about a week ago. Not that it was such a remarkable event, but it had alerted her to the fact that in the night of the lighthouse the issue of contraception had not for one second crossed her mind. Even after the event, she had been so consumed with recovering from the smoke poisoning and how she had got it that such practical matters hadn’t occurred to her. Only when she’d started to bleed had she calculated the days and realized that it had been a close shave; she could easily have gotten pregnant. Imagining the scenario made her reel. Apart from the fact that she felt far too young to have kids, she wasn’t even sure whether she wanted any. Also, regardless of what she felt for Severus, she doubted that he would be suitable father material; for all she knew, he hated children. – So once again, she had been far luckier than smart.

“What is it?” When Elena looked up, Janie was scrutinizing her with a knowing smile. “Want one?”

Elena hesitated, then nodded. Janie thrust a pink flask into her hand which Elena slipped into the pocket of her jacket.

“Don’t tell Cassie, though”, Janie advised, “or you’ll never hear the end of it.”

“So it _is_ true? Witches and wizards _are_ more prudish? About sex?”

“I wouldn’t call it prudish. I’d say they are more aware of the effects sexuality has on their souls.”

“On their _souls_?”

Janie shrugged. “Mixing auras and such. Alright, a lot of this is old wizarding lore and not to be taken too seriously. However, it cannot be denied that something happens when a witch and a wizard become intimate.”

“What exactly happens?”

“Differs. – I, for instance, was never any good at inventing potions. That’s Castor’s talent. Since we’ve been married, however, I’m becoming better at it.”

“Probably because you see it all the time.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Janie smiled mysteriously.

“You think it would upset Cassie if she knew that I had one of these pink thingies?”

“Not upset, exactly. But she’s nosy and she cares about you and she’d probably want to make sure that you’re not … _mixing_ … with the wrong element and harm your magic in the process.”

“That’s nonsense”, murmured Elena.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” The same secretive smile.

Her hand in the pocket of her jacket, Elena stroked the flask tenderly. She wondered whether it could be trusted. Probably, as she had often had the impression that potions were more effective than pharmaceutical products, and less harmful to the body. Elena had witnessed it first hand when Severus had cured her aunt’s Alzheimer’s. So what she had in her pocket would probably work. But would she need it? Right now, she would have given a lot to have an answer to this question. Meanwhile, she resolved, it didn’t hurt to be prepared ….

 

Before long, Cassie came back to the kitchen, followed by a slightly sweaty and harassed-looking Castor. The four of them assembled around the kitchen table, food, tea and coffee were dispensed and for a while, there was a blessed silence since they were all hungry and very focussed on filling their stomachs. Conversation came back only gradually, and when it did it was invariably about the potions shop since this was the Cleary’s existence and hence their main concern. Elena listened to them discussing accounts and which order might come through and which one might not, the behaviour of certain customers and the general state of the business.

After a while, however, her thoughts went in different directions. Once more, she was back in the woods with Severus, surrounded by masked figures and threatened by dogs. However, she didn’t hold on to this memory for a long time but instead went on to when he’d held her in his arms, his fingers stroking her hair and murmuring to her softly and soothingly. She remembered the tension that had been in his body then, she’d almost felt him tremble with it, and in that moment she had known that he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

However, wanting was one thing, loving quite another. Whenever Elena confronted herself with this truth, she couldn’t help thinking about another detail that she usually pushed to the back of her mind: his Patronus was still a doe. She had seen it the night of her encounter with the satyrs. Hence, the most obvious conclusion was that Severus might desire her, while his heart still firmly belonged to Lily Potter. When she put it to herself like this, she felt a sharp pain in her chest and right now it was so fierce that she felt tears prickle in her eyes and had to blink a few times to hold them back.

And then again … hadn’t he himself said that Lily was dead, gone? That she wasn’t the reason he held back? However, who knew what went on in his head? Often enough, Elena had the strong feeling that Severus enjoyed her company, that he considered her a friend and that he felt a need to entrust things to her, things about which he didn’t normally speak. What he had told her about his mother, for instance …

Elena wasn’t aware of the deep frown on her forehead when she thought about Eileen Snape, no, Eileen _Prince_ , the poisoner. Since Severus had told her, Elena had had a hard time not thinking about it. What worried her most was that it hadn’t surprised her at all. In fact, although her encounter with the woman had been very brief, Elena had realized at once that here was a particularly dark horse. The cold black eyes … the malicious sneer … granted, Severus had all these features as well, in fact the resemblance between mother and son was stunning. It was even more stunning that the characteristics she loved in him scared her when it came to his mother.

Had she really poisoned her husband? Certainly, from what she knew about Tobias Snape it was hard to feel pity for him. Since Elena had learnt a little more about Severus’ family, she had sometimes found herself harbouring feelings of hatred towards the man because of the way he’d treated his wife and son. Also, she was quite prepared to acknowledge that Eileen might have had good reason to off him. However, the manner … an agonizing death by poison …

Suddenly, Elena saw Magrathea Crowley in front of her inner eye, warning her about the Prince family. From Magrathea, it was only a short mental distance to arrive at McVey. Elena shifted uncomfortably on her chair. He would probably contact her soon, ask her about her findings. She was still determined to tell him off, explain to him that she wouldn’t snoop into Severus’ family, no matter what the consequences might be. At the same time, the things that McVey had asked her to find out were a constant itch in her mind. She _wanted_ to find out. However, not to give the information away, but to keep it to herself.

She had an idea then.

“Listen, guys, is there a public library somewhere around here?” she asked spontaneously.

Cassie, Janie and Castor looked up in surprise because she had somewhat interrupted the flow of conversation.

“Not interested in book-keeping, are you?” Castor said with a friendly wink. Breakfast with wife and sister had visibly relaxed him.

“Sure there is”, Janie said, “just opposite from Gringott’s. What are you looking for?”

“Just …”, Elena quickly thought up an excuse, “it’s for an essay Professor Snape has me do.”

“He has you write essays??” Cassie made a face. “Well, you can’t say that guy in’t thorough …”

“Are you surprised?” Elena asked, grinning.

“Go easy on the man”, Castor murmured, “I wouldn’t be here without him and what he taught me. You know, at Hogwarts Snape was usually so horrible that I never realized what an effective teacher he truly was. I got that only much much later …”

Elena smiled at Castor and she couldn’t help that smile coming over a little too gratefully. Castor noticed it; surprise registered on his face, but then he winked once more. The Clearys weren’t merely handsome, but sensitive, as well.

 

* * *

Her stomach stuffed with an excellent breakfast, Elena was a little hesitant at first to go through with her plans. The temptation to Apparate home and get back to her warm bed was almost overwhelming, but after she had said good-bye to the Clearys she made herself go to the library, anyway. It was a grand place, all mahogany panels and bannisters, and it exuded the air of learning and sophistication that you can only find in really renowned libraries.

When she asked the librarian – an elderly witch with blackish teeth and kind eyes – for a book on magical artefacts, the woman smiled and led her to a whole section lined with ancient-looking volumes. Elena sighed at first, but a linguist is not usually daunted by books. She went to work right away, using a magically extending ladder to get from one shelf to another. Yet, it took more than an hour before she had found the right book that listed and explained all kinds of objects with magical properties that were known to the wizarding world. Jinxed pieces of jewellery and items of clothing were described that conveyed all kinds of characteristics to the person wearing them, and of course, wands took up a large portion, one of them the legendary Elder Wand. Elena leaved through the book, conscientiously scanning the pages lest she miss something.

Eventually, she found it. The Game of Gobstones, or, to be precise, _The_ Game of Gobstones. There was an image that left no doubt for Elena that it was the same set that she had seen at Abrasax Manor. However, the depicted set was complete, with five stones of different colours on top of it, blue, yellow, purple, black and … red. Elena read the description rendered below the illustration:

_Dating back to the 17 th century, this special Game of Gobstones is frequently referred to as ‘Rolling Luck’. Dissent exists with regard to its manufacturer, being sometimes ascribed to Willard Walkytter (*1587, +1691), a prolific producer of magical artefacts, but probably manufactured by Zygmunt Budge (*1601, +1673), the inventor of the Felix Felicis potion. The latter theory has more credence as the ‘Rolling Luck’ has approximately the same effect for its proprietor as Felix Felicis, although the effect is permanent, provided that the crowning set of five gobstones is complete. _

 

Elena had never heard of Felix Felicis, but enough Latin to guess what it was. This was getting interesting. She read on.

 

_Each of the five crowning stones stands for a concept considered indispensible for achieving human happiness; hence, the blue stone is referred to as the Stone of Friendship, red as the Stone of Love, yellow the Stone of Wealth, purple the Stone of Youth and Beauty, and black the Stone of Fame and Influence. Each stone works for itself, but only a complete set empowers the proprietor with everlasting luck and happiness._

_In 1888, the set was purchased by Ebenezer Cuffe, the founder of_ The Daily Prophet _. The overwhelming success of this paper in advancing to the most frequently read newspaper in the wizarding sphere is generally attributed to the Cuffe family’s possession of the Gobstones. Notable previous owners were …_

 

Elena let the book sink onto her lap. She thought hard, then leaved to the book’s inlay to ascertain when it had been published: 1935. In the meantime, the red stone had been lost, leaving behind an incomplete set the effect of which was probably feeble compared to what it could do when whole. Suddenly, it became abundantly clear to Elena just how much the woman must desire to get back to the red stone, just like Finn McVey had told her. At the same time, it was obvious how the other stones had done their best for Madam Crowley; she was certainly famous and influential, rich, looked young and beautiful and had powerful friends. But what about love? Was it missing from her life? She was a married woman, but that didn’t mean that she was also able to give and receive love. However, wasn’t that the most important thing in life for which fame, wealth, beauty and friendship could never compensate?

According to McVey, Magrathea believed that Eileen had the missing gobstone, the Stone of Love. However, Elena was doubtful with regard to this. After all, she had seen the woman and she had appeared in no way loving to her, but rather bitter and exhausted. If it was true that the stones, even individually, left a trace in its owner’s life, there was no way Severus’ mother had it. Also, she could not figure out the connection between Eileen and Magrathea. They were very different in age, temperament and background. Yet, the must be a reason why Magrathea Crowley believed that Eileen Snape had the red stone. But how was she going to figure that one out?

After a while, Elena closed the book with a sigh. What she had learnt was certainly interesting, but what did it tell her? Nothing, apart from the reason why the gobstones set was so valuable. Unless …

She got up from the rickety chair in the reading section and made her way back to the librarian.

“Do you have some kind of Who-is-Who?” she asked.

The witch looked at her confused. “What do you mean, luv?”

“A book on witches and wizards alive today. Their dates and main achievements, something like that.”

The librarian’s face became sad. “Sorry, luv, but I don’t know of any such thing. You’d have to go to the Ministry of Magic’s Registry Office, and I’m not sure whether they’d help you, not without a good reason, at least. Most witches and wizards are very touchy about their privacy, see. They wouldn’t want details of their lives to go on public record. That’s the kind of thing Muggles do.”

Elena was disappointed, but she thanked the librarian kindly. So if she wanted to find out more about Magrathea Crowley, she’d have to find other sources of information. But how?

Musing, she wandered along the shelves, letting her fingers trail over the backs of long lines of books. She didn’t really look what was ahead of her, being deep in thought, and she would almost have bumped into someone.

“I’m so sorry”, she breathed, flustered.

“It’s alright.”

The voice was familiar. She looked up and stared directly into the pointed rat-face of Draco Malfoy.

“You again?” she cried without thinking.

Draco raised his eyebrows. It made him look horribly arrogant. “Again?”

“I saw you this morning! _Very_ early in the morning, near one of the shops in Diagon Alley.”

“Yeah, visiting a friend”, Draco explained smoothly. “His parents have a charms shop.”

“Hmm.” Elena looked at the book in Draco’s hands. Something on Arithmancy, even the cover looked complicated. In her view, it was an unlikely choice for this type of guy.

“Just looking something up”, Draco explained unnecessarily and appeared suddenly flustered.

Elena narrowed her eyes. She had a funny feeling in her guts. “Listen”, she said, “since you’re here … if you wanted to find out something about anyone in the wizarding world, what would you do?”

“Find out what exactly?”

“Birth dates, education, achievements … There appears to be no such thing as a ‘Who-is-Who’ in your world!”

By Draco’s look of confusion, it was obvious that he had never heard of any such thing, either. “You could turn to the _Daily Prophet’s_ archives”, he ventured hesitantly.

“Ah, no, that’d be too complex. I don’t feel like looking for a needle in a haystack. – Well, never mind, thanks anyway.” She turned to walk away, having no wish to spend too much time with Draco Malfoy, but to her surprise he held her back.

“What about tea or coffee?”

She stared at him. An invitation was the least she had expected of him. Also, there was an uncertain smile playing around Draco’s mouth and it made her wonder about the suggestion even more.

“No, thank you”, she replied coolly, “I just drank a whole pint of coffee, my heart’s racing.”

“Cake then? A late breakfast?”

“Full-up”, she said curtly, patting her tummy.

“I just thought”, Draco started with a slight stammer, “since we have lessons together now and all that …”

It was getting more and more curious. Granted, the offer was probably meant kindly, but Elena had no intention of following it, not only because she didn’t think to highly of the young man, but chiefly because she had another port of call before going home.

“As you say”, she said, “we have lessons together now, so we will see quite a lot of each other. Perhaps more than we both want to.”

Draco’s eyes became wide. He was clearly not used to being brushed off. “You’re very direct”, he remarked.

“I’m honest”, she replied evenly. “You should try it sometimes.”

Elena couldn’t quite explain why she had said it, so she gave him a false smile, a girlish wave and took off, aware of Draco’s eyes staring holes into her back.


	18. New Order

**New Order**

 

The next few days Elena had set aside to start working on her thesis. She was in no mood to do it and had a hard time getting motivated. However, the sooner she got it out of the way, the sooner she would be able to wholly dedicate herself to her magical studies. Severus was at Hogwarts, so the news she had for him had to wait; although she could hardly wait to tell him, she didn’t want to put them in an owl, either.

It took her a long time to get into the process, scan secondary reading, mark passages, work out an outline for her paper and hack it into her word processor, but gradually she recovered her old passion for literature and language; she’d been neglecting it over the past months. After a while, she didn’t notice the passing of time anymore and was surprised when she looked up and saw that dusk loomed before her bedroom window. She was even more surprised that while working, she had hardly thought about the hellhound scare anymore, let alone about gobstones and her unkindness towards Draco Malfoy, which – after the event – embarrassed her quite a bit. What had got into her? She wasn’t usually so stroppy and Draco had done nothing apart from being who he was! When she forced herself to do some soul-searching on her reaction towards him, she had to admit to herself that she was jealous, plain and simple. Jealous that Draco would from now on take away some of the valuable time that in her mind belonged exclusively to her and Severus. Jealous of the connection that the two wizards had, its root lying in a past that Elena knew only cold facts about but could not share. Also, in her mind Draco stood for the dark side of Severus, the Death Eater side, a world that smelt of toil and blood. It wasn’t that she wanted to ignore this side; it would have made no sense. That didn’t change the fact, however, that she found it daunting. In addition, she found it hard to forget one of the facts that she had learned at the Wizengamot hearing, namely that killing Albus Dumbledore had originally been Draco’s task which Severus had taken over because the boy had been too chicken-shit to do it. Well, to call it ‘chicken-shit’ was, of course, harsh; Elena could see this quite clearly. In fact, how cruel had it been of that imbecile Voldemort to put a young boy in charge of such an act! Yet no matter how often she told herself that, she still perceived Draco as one of the roots of Severus’ current problems; it was, in any case, enough to put her on edge whenever she thought of the young Malfoy. – All the same, she resolved to be a bit nicer to Draco the next time she met him, basically hoping that it wouldn’t be too soon.

On her third day of working on her thesis, Elena was ripped out of concentration by an insistent ring of the doorbell. She checked the clock. Noon, her aunt would be resting, so she got up and hurried down the stairs to the front door where she was surprised to find Remus Lupin waiting.

“Oh, hi there! I haven’t seen _you_ in quite a while.”

“I’m hardly seeing myself these days”, Remus replied, and in fact he seemed more tired and drawn than usual.

“What’s going on? D’you want to come in?”

“Actually I was hoping to whisk you away with me.”

“Whisk me away?” She grinned. “That sounds adventurous. Where to?”

“To a very adventurous place.”

Elena wanted to say that she had work to do and the words were already on the tip of her tongue. Then, however, she realized that she wouldn’t be able to work in peace until she knew what Lupin had in mind. “Alright”, she replied, “just let me get my wand.”

She did, left a quick note for Anna and then met Remus outside the door to Disapparate with him.

A short while later, she found herself in a side road with dustbins and stalking cats, and her intuition told her that this was London although she had no idea which corner. Remus appeared to be in a secretive mood because he only smiled at her without explaining and beckoned for her to follow him. They walked for a while and eventually arrived in a street lined by stately town houses. A street sign said ‘Grimmauld Place’. Remus stopped in front of number 11 and turned to Elena.

“Notice something?”

She did, but only after a while. “Number 12 is missing.”

“Do you think it got lost?” Remus asked with a grin.

“From the way you’re asking, it’s most likely some magical shit or other.”

“I see, you’re not so easily surprised anymore. But maybe this will do?”

He spoke an incantation, and in the next moment the houses bearing numbers eleven and thirteen appeared to slide apart, but instead of a gap another house appeared, one that looked considerably older and more dilapidated than the others. The number twelve was clearly visible by the front door.

Elena gasped. “Well, that’s … quite something!”

“Number twelve Grimmauld Place, to be precise”, Remus said solemnly. “The old headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.”

“The Order of the Phoenix?” Elena couldn’t help holding her breath for a bit. She had heard a lot about the Order, founded by Albus Dumbledore and an important force in the wizarding wars. “Why are you bringing me here?”

Remus didn’t reply immediately. For a few seconds, he seemed thoughtful, as if deliberating what to say. When he finally spoke, he chose his words very carefully. “There is something that I would like you to do. Only if you agree, of course, but I hope that you will at least consider it. – However, I would like to talk to you about it alone, before the others arrive.”

“The others?”

“The other members of the Order.”

From Elena’s point of view, Lupin’s reply comprised two riddles. She attempted to tackle them one by one. “I thought the Order was defunct?”

“It was. Until today.”

“And what do you mean, the ‘ _other_ members’?”

“What do you think?”

“I …“

“Obviously, I’m hoping for you to become a member.”

She stared at Remus with wide eyes. “ _I_ should … are you serious?”

A grave nod answered.

“Remus, I’m afraid you’re …”, she struggled for words, “don’t you know what a crappy witch I am?”

“You don’t have to believe everything Severus tells you”, Remus said quietly. He took Elena’s arm and led her towards number twelve. “Quick now, before the house disappears again. – I’ll tell you more inside.”

However, it took Elena a while to process ‘inside’. Alright, this was not the first wizarding house she’d ever been to, although Snape’s house hardly qualified as such, but there had been Abrasax Manor. However, the latter – although eerie in some aspects – had on the whole been spacious and elegant, a far cry from the dusty, cramped oppressiveness she found inside of number 12 Grimmauld Place. The first shock came after she had hardly crossed the threshold and a greyish bearded ghoul rose up from the floorboards to point at her accusingly. Lupin made short work of it and offered some vague explanation on how the ghost was to scare off ‘certain undesirables’, but didn’t offer any details. The next worrisome encounter for Elena was meeting an obviously very old house-elf who’d hesitatingly come into the hallway upon their arrival. Used to hapless Gilly, she greeted the creature kindly and was surprised to get an ill-tempered scowl in return.

“ _Yet another Mudblood crowding this place … there’s just no end …_ ”

“What the _f…_??” Elena looked at Remus uncertainly.

“This is Kreacher”, the wizard explained with a twitch around his mouth, “known and loved for his exceptional charms.”

“ _Foul-mouthed Mudbloods, bummed-out werewolves …_ ”

“Thank you, Kreacher, we feel quite put in our place”, Remus said coldly. “No go and make us tea, will you, or I’m going to feel obliged to talk to Harry Potter about it.”

Kreacher’s ears dropped a little, but he didn’t look very embarrassed and slouched away instead.

While they were settling down in the salon – it was stuffed with old furniture, dusty tapestries, colossal cobwebs and all kinds of magical artefacts – Lupin explained the history of the house, how it had once belonged to the Black family and had come into Harry’s possession via his godfather, Sirius Black. He showed Elena the tapestry that depicted the Black family tree, and she looked at it in disgust since to her it spelt incest and blood pride. She was not at all surprised to find the pointed face of Draco Malfoy on the tapestry. So this was the world he really came from, overloaded with fishy dark arts and inbreeding. She didn’t feel quite so bad about her unkindness anymore.

Soon enough, Kreacher appeared with a tray and a new round of insults muttered under his breath. Remus and Elena paid no attention and settled back in threadbare armchairs close to the fireplace, waiting until the tea was poured and the house-elf had taken off.

“What do you want me to do?” Elena asked, losing no time.

Remus hesitated a little before he spoke. “I’ve been thinking long and hard about this. On the one hand, I don’t want to throw you into a potentially dangerous situation. On the other hand, however, I can think of no one you would do what needs to be done quite as well as you.”

“You set a lot of trust in me”, Elena said with an amazed scoff. “But maybe you overestimate my magic?”

“That’s exactly the point”, Remus said with a slight shake of the head, “you being a novice of magic.”

Elena glared at him askance.

“Look”, Remus started, “Severus has been keeping me informed. On your recent scare with those hellhounds for example, but more importantly on your encounter with Magrathea Crowley. – She invited you to that academy, didn’t she, the Crowley Academy?”

“True”, Elena admitted, “but I brushed her off.”

“You can always go back on it”, Remus said with a smile.

“Why would I?” Elena frowned.

“Because that’s what I want you to do, or rather, _need_ you to do. Apply at the Crowley Academy and become a student.”

She wanted to protest, but thought twice. “You want me to check out the Academy? Work as a _spy_?”

Remus nodded gravely. “Exactly. – This academy is a very closed-down affair, you see. I recently had one of my erstwhile co-workers at the Ministry – yes, I quit, but that’s a different story – well, I had him write an owl and ask for permission to visit. I would have done it myself, but it would have been too conspicuous. Anyway, they replied that the Crowley Academy was a private institution and in order to not disturb its student’s learning, outsiders could not be admitted. They weren’t even prepared to disclose where that blasted academy is! The location appears to be a well-kept secret. On top of that, they don’t appear to be interested in getting certified by the Ministry, claiming that they are working according to their own standards and methods, and Ministry approval means nothing to them.”

“Isn’t that fishy in itself?”

“Maybe. But then, education in the wizarding world is not as firmly regulated as I believe it is in the Muggle world. The academy is well within its rights when insisting on privacy and prohibiting outsiders. – And that means if we want to find out more about it, we need a student, preferably a believable one. Wouldn’t help if I sent Hermione Granger there – though no doubt she’d do it – because nobody’d believe that she’d need it. You, however …”

Elena shifted uncomfortably on her armchair. “Well, like I said, I already brushed that Crowley woman off and told her that I was very happy with my present teaching arrangement”, she explained. “Wouldn’t it look dodgy if I came crawling to her doorstep now?”

Remus shrugged. “You’d need a good motive for changing your mind, of course.”

“Such as?”

For a few moments, Remus watched her calculatingly. “What if your present teaching arrangement for some reason fell through?”

“You mean …”

“You could have a falling-out with Severus”, Remus suggested. “It wouldn’t even have to be explained. Most people’d swallow right away if you were to say that you couldn’t stand his temper anymore.”

“But I can stand his temper!” she objected a little too passionately.

“It would just be for show”, Remus tried to put her at ease. “Of course, you’d also have to scrape a little, make an effort to get back into Magrathea Crowley’s good graces. Because ultimately I’d like you to find out as much as you can about that academy – who teaches there, how they are working and what happens behind closed doors.”

“Do you have any idea what I might find?”

“Not ideas, but suspicions. First and foremost, I believe that the Crowley Academy is merely a front for a clandestine operation. An organisation that does all kinds of things to undermine the present state of the wizarding world.”

“What kinds of things?” Elena asked, although she could imagine at least some of them.

“Exerting influence on public opinion. Providing ways for Death Eaters in hiding to leave the country and provide new lives for them elsewhere. Conspiring to upset the present equilibrium of the wizarding world by causing problems, scares, and secretly covering all important bases of powers with their own people, the identities of who we know nothing about. – As you can see, there are all kinds of things that you might find out, should you agree.”

Elena didn’t reply for a while, all kinds of thoughts chasing through her head. On the one hand, she was excited that Remus would ask this of her, that he thought she might be able to help, and for the Order of the Phoenix, too! His plan sounded straightforward enough and she was sure that it would probably work, that she would be able to get access to the academy. On the other hand, however …

“I know at least one person who won’t like this one bit”, she said. A person who was very sensitive of her going behind his back, to be precise, but Elena didn’t say that.

Remus smiled crookedly. “That’s the reason why I wanted to talk to you first. I’m quite aware that Severus will try to put a stop to it. However, you’re an adult, Elena, and you can make your own decisions. Needless to say that you could always get out of it if things become dicey. I won’t put you into any more danger than necessary. – At the same time, you have to be aware that a certain degree of danger can never be quite eliminated, not in our world, anyway.”

“I know that! I’ve had my little adventures, remember?”

“Yes, and you did well. That’s why I’m asking.”

“I will”, Elena said with a fierce nod. It was quite an impulsive decision. “I will do what you say, try to get into the academy. Actually, I am pretty sure that it can be done.”

Remus looked into her eyes for a while, then smiled. “I thought you would. Thank you, anyway. – So now we need to deal with your teacher …”

Elena sighed. “That’s alright, I will talk to him …”

“Not necessary”, Remus interrupted her and checked a large clock on the mantelpiece, one with baby arms for hands, “Severus will be here in about fifteen minutes. As will the others. First Order meeting since its reinstatement.”

“So you want to present them all with a _fait accompli_?”

“That was the idea.”

“Well … I’m looking forward to that one”, Elena said gloomily. She raised the cup to her lips and sipped the tea, only to screw up her face. It had a funny stale taste. “How long have those tea leaves been there? Since 1935?”

“I wouldn’t put anything past Kreacher”, Remus said evenly. “Give it to the pot plant then, it looks dried out.” He set an example by doing just that, and the pot plant standing near the windows stretched its branches gratefully, and when Elena followed, it gave off a happy sigh.

From the hallway, a commotion could be heard. A few moments later, a lot of red-haired people crowded the room; Elena had hardly ever seen so many of them in one small space. She hadn’t had a chance to properly meet the Weasleys yet except for Ginny – who greeted her with an affectionate hug – but that small obstacle was quickly overcome by Remus taking over introductions. Molly Weasley specifically welcomed Elena very kindly, a little bit as if she were the mistress of the house – and she probably was by default – ensuring her that she’d wanted to meet her in person ‘for ages’ and ‘not just when you’re under an Invisiblity Cloak’. Her husband Arthur, too, was very kind, but not quite as blatantly curious. And while Ronald Weasley still eyed her a little sceptically, his brother George did nothing to hide his grin and stare. Elena realized that they had all heard about her and probably made jokes about her connection to Severus Snape, just as much as all of Eddie’s and Cassie’s friends knew about ‘that poor girl who had the greasy old git for a private tutor’. Elena was glad that soon after Hermione Granger arrived directly from Hogwarts, so that she had someone to chat to. And before long, the black-clad figure of Severus Snape himself loomed in the hallway where he was accosted by the dust ghost right away.

“Yeah, I _killed_ you, get over it”, he snarled at it and the ghost disintegrated with a pitiful wail. The moment the spectre was out of the way, Severus saw Elena who had just come out of the salon. “What are _you_ doing here?” he demanded impetuously, but she had expected no less.

“Remus invited me”, she replied evenly, trying to catch his gaze, but it was clear to her that he wouldn’t allow it, not with so many Weasleys around who were curiously eyeing their hushed exchanged. Severus cast his eyes around restlessly, clearly looking for Lupin, but instead Molly walked over to meet him.

“Hi there, Severus, it’s good to see you”, she said sweetly, her smile genuine and maternal.

Snape twitched and mumbled something.

“The meeting will start as soon as Harry’s arrived”, Molly informed him, “and afterwards I’m going to make you all a late lunch.”

“Not hungry”, Snape issued, clearly irritated.

“But you _have_ to eat”, was Molly’s slightly indignant reply as she looked him up and down, “you’re as thin as a rake. Don’t they feed you at Hogwarts?” She turned to Elena. “Also I’m going to teach _you_ a few cooking spells, dear. I’m sure you don’t have a first idea about that, but in our world there is no way for a witch to get around that. – Kreacher?!? Come over here, you wrinkly ungrateful elf! I’ve got peas to shell!” And with that, she sailed off towards where Elena guessed the kitchens were.

“She’s lovely”, Elena whispered to Severus as she edged closer to him without noticing it, as if magnetically attracted, “and a little overwhelming.”

“Make no mistake”, he said, still scowling, “she can be fierce. Most of us had no idea just how fierce.”

Elena stared after plump red-haired Molly, eyes wide.

However, Severus had different things on his mind. “I told Lupin _specifically_ not to involve you into Order business!”

Elena wasn’t surprised. “Looks like he didn’t listen. He holds the view that adults should make their own decisions. Don’t you?”

“Depends on the adult”, he replied gloomily.

The arrival of Harry Potter forestalled any further exchange of opinions. The young wizard looked tired and harassed when he breezed into the hallway, and it made him look at least five years older. Even the faces of this friends who were obviously happy to see him did nothing to improve his mood. “Don’t ask!” was the first thing he said when Hermione looked at him inquisitively.

“Here’s one hot and after a quick glance at Harry. “Looks like I’ve made a good decision when I handed in my notice.”

“Only to even it out with a bad one”, Snape snarled, looking pointedly back and forth between Lupin and Elena.

Remus lazily waved his words away. “We can discuss this later.”

“I’d rather we didn’t discuss it at all …”

“You won’t believe what happened!” Harry butted in, no longer able to contain himself. “The Time Turner got stolen!”

“ _What_?” Hermione stared at him with disbelieving eyes. “I thought they were all destroyed?”

“ _Mine_ wasn’t”, Elena said without thinking that it was really quite an exaggeration to refer to it as hers when it had really been give to Snape by Dumbledore as an heirloom. “The Ministry confiscated it, but that’s all I know.”

“It was kept in the Artefacts department”, Harry explained, “scheduled to be destroyed eventually. – But someone got to it before that could happen.”

Elena and Severus exchanged a look, and it was clear to both of them what the respective other one was thinking: better stolen than destroyed. They both appreciated the value of magical artefacts and to destroy something as special as a Time Turner was, in their mind, the greater crime compared to theft. However, it was also very clear that they wouldn’t say this aloud, and certainly not in present company.

However, Ron Weasley surprised them. “Actually, I always thought it a little sad that they were so keen on destroying them. Those Time Turners are quite neat. Somehow.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying!” Harry said. “A Time Turner in the wrong hands? Asks for trouble.”

With interest, Elena noted how Ron and Hermione shared a short moment with their eyes, one that wasn’t very different from the one she’d just exchanged with Severus. It made a funny idea come to her head: ‘We _are_ having a relationship!’ A stunted one, granted, but they were sharing something – an understanding, a common ground honed by shared experiences and mutual … well, something between respect and affection – that they shared with no one else. Plus, they watched out for each other. Couldn’t wait to share news and thoughts with each other. The realization made her head reel. Once more, she looked at Severus and when he responded to her gaze she gave him her most radiant smile. He tried to keep an impassive face – if anything, his eyes became darker – but there was a tiny twitch around his mouth. Very clearly, the idea she’d just had had never occurred to him and Elena guessed that if she had alerted him to the circumstance, he would have denied it. ‘Better keep it a secret then’, she told herself, ‘it might shock him.’ However, something in her stomach suddenly felt very warm, and knowing that the doubt would resurface eventually, she resolved to savour it in silence.

“Any idea who got to it?” Remus asked. Elena had to remind herself that they were still talking about the Time Turner.

“If a knew, I wouldn’t be here”, Harry grumbled. “Could be anyone from within the Ministry, to be honest. Did you realize – ‘cause Kingsley told me today – that in the last six months, about a quarter of all the ministerial posts have been replaced by different people?”

“I’ve been thinking that there are an awful lot of new faces about”, Arthur Weasley said thoughtfully.

“Doesn’t Kingsley have a say in all this?” Hermione inquired. “He’s the Minister of Magic, after all!”

“And what exactly does that mean?” Harry sounded challenging. “He can’t do as he likes, he has to consider all kinds of interests. And if somebody is recommended and vouched for by a Ministry official, what is he to do if the majority of votes is against him?”

“Fact is”, Remus came to his support, “that we can be glad Kingsley is still in the driver’s seat, so we have a base at the Ministry that we can trust completely, no matter what happens.”

“What do you think _is_ going to happen?” This came from Ron.

“That is exactly why we are here”, Remus replied solemnly, “and why I would like to ask all of you to join me in the salon. Needless to say – everything that’s going to be discussed here today is strictly confidential and will be kept so by a Fidelius Charm that I’m going to put on all of you. Anyone who’s got a problem with that need not step over this threshold.”

However, no one had a problem and five minutes later, the first meeting of the reformed Order of the Phoenix was in session with its members-to-be crowding sofas and armchairs while Remus took up his position by the fireplace and claimed their attention.

On the outset, he briefly explained the present situation, detailing his belief that the wizarding world was presently being undermined by clandestine forces. He was ready to admit that a certain portion of his suspicions was based on intuition rather than provable facts, but he reminded the assembled witches and wizards of recent occurrences: the critical articles that had recently appeared in the wizarding world’s most important papers that equalled a smear campaign destined to cast the victors of the recent war – specifically _The Golden Trio_ – into doubt, as well as anyone who had assisted in the downfall of the Dark Lord; he reminded everyone of Snape’s hearing that had had all the characteristics of a trial; he mentioned the ‘satyr crisis’ which was still ripe without anyone knowing where it came from. Also, he reminded those present that the Death Eater hunt had a while ago reached an deadlock, and that to him this looked as if an organization were in place that helped them hide or leave the country.

“On the whole”, he closed his speech, “a lot of things are happening right now which, per se, might not appear remarkable, but the sheer number of individual occurrences has had me wonder for a while now whether there is a connection.”

He then went on to present his theory that whatever might be going on, he was very certain that Aeneas and Magrathea Crowley were at the centre of it, and that the so-called ‘Crowley Academy’ might be much more than an educational institution. Remus explained why he thought this, much in the same way that he had to Elena only thirty minutes earlier. From there, he presented his plan to place a spy into the academy. “I hope I need not tell you who I have in mind”, he finished with a sly expression, “there is only one person among us who could do it without causing suspicion.”

Eyes turned towards Elena. She, however, watched Severus out of the corner of her eyes. During Lupin’s speech, he had remained standing at the back of the room, near the exit, leaning with his back against the wall. It was hard to read his expression. Elena sensed that he must be mad, but of course he wouldn’t show too much emotion in this circle.

“Do you really think this is a good idea?” Hermione piped up eventually. “I mean … no offense, Elena, but you haven’t been a witch for long. You have no idea into what kinds of situations you might get!”

“I have already explained to Elena that ‘situations’ are to be avoided at all costs. The only thing I want her to do is check out that academy, play the role of hapless student. Actually, the fact that she is new to our world is the best starting position we can hope for! It will enable her to ask questions, even seemingly naïve ones, without raising suspicions. – Also, may I remind you all that she’s been in difficult situations before and managed to get out of them?”

At the back of the room, Severus groaned.

“I don’t know, Remus”, Molly – who had come back from the kitchens for the meeting but was still in her apron – murmured, “it seems awfully cruel to me; we have no idea what she might come up against! Just imagine if something happened?”

“Something’s always happening”, Harry interjected. “To me, it’s been that way since I turned eleven. It’s the reality of our world. I’m sure Elena can deal with it. She already has, remember?”

“I don’t like this at all!” Hermione cried passionately. “Why don’t you let _me_ go? Everybody knows I’m keen on learning!”

“That’d be stupid!” Ron said fiercely. “Who’d believe that nerdy Hermione Granger’d interrupt her studies at Hogwarts to join some half-assed wizarding academy? – No, no, it makes much more sense if _she_ does it.”

“But she might get hurt!” Ginny joined the discussion. “And she won’t be as capable as we are when it comes to getting out of a tight spot.”

“She’s manoeuvred herself out of tight spots before!”

“Yeah, that was mostly lucky; but she’d need more than just dumb luck …”

At this point, Elena had enough. “May _I_ say something?” she asked, her voice carrying over the chatter. As soon as she was sure that she had everyone’s attention, she went on. “There’s no need to discuss this any further. I already promised Remus that I would do it. And I will. I don’t see the problem, either: all I’m going to do is join that academy – if they let me – and have a look around. Maybe I’m not even going to find out anything. But if I do, we’ll take it from there.”

Silence fell, everybody looked at her, some approvingly, others sceptically. From the back of the room came a pronounced sigh, but Elena avoided looking at Severus.

Eventually, Molly spoke up. “I realize that you’re old enough to make your own decisions, dear. And we’re probably wrong in treating you like a little fool …”

“Thank you!” Elena said, inclining her head.

“… but let me say this: maybe you’re thinking that you have to prove something to us. But you don’t.”

“I don’t want to prove myself. I want to help.”

“Needless to say”, Remus took over, “that we’re going to help you as good as we can. We won’t leave you alone in this.”

A bitter scoff from the back of the room.

“You want to say something, Severus?”

“She _is_ going to be alone in this”, Snape’s silky voice was dripping with sarcasm. “Once the gates of that blasted academy close behind her, the rest of us will be able to do … exactly _nothing_!”

“Why don’t you let her get in first?” Ron said with an irritated look over his shoulder.

But Snape was unimpressed. “It is quite obvious, Mr Weasley, that you don’t have a first idea what spy work entails. It’s best to go into it prepared, to always have a plan, and a back-up, too, should the first plan fail.”

“Well then, why don’t you coach her?” This came from George and he looked Snape straight in the eyes. “After all, you’re the master of spying, aren’t you?”

The look George got in return could have withered hothouse plants – which didn’t impress George at all who’d had plenty of run-ins with Snape, one of which had left considerable scarring on the side of his face – but instead of retaliating Severus jerked his head irritably and said nothing.

“Look”, Remus started again, “you’re right, of course, all of you. There is a certain degree of danger. Also, there’s no doubt I’d feel much better if Elena didn’t have to go into this alone. However, I see no other way right now. Plus, the ugly truth is that work for the Order _is_ sometimes dangerous. You all know this, but you’re in it, anyway. And I’ve convinced myself that Elena knows it, too.”

“So it’s official? We’re going to reopen the Order of the Phoenix?”

“Yes, we are, as of today. However, it’s going to have to be a clandestine operation. The rest of the wizarding world thinks that the Order has become defunct, and that’s fine, they should keep on thinking it. In the present climate, it is best if no one knows of our continued existence.”

“And we’re going to meet here?” Hermione asked uncertainly. “I mean, the place has been compromised …”

“Yeah. Yaxley.” Ron gave Remus a meaningful look. “He’s one of the Death Eaters that haven’t been found yet, so he might …”

“He might”, Remus acknowledged, “but it isn’t very likely. Yaxley and the likes of him have quite different problems right now. Also anyone who’d suspect that the Order was reinstalled would probably not think that we were so stupid to use the old headquarters again – which is actually the best camouflage we can hope for.”

“I don’t know, Remus …”

“Plus, we’re going to put up new protective spells, ones that can only be broken by members of the Order. I also have a new access in mind to get in and out of the house without anyone noticing.”

“How about disposing of that ghost? I have to admit that it’s getting on my nerves.”

“You’re right, Severus. It has quite outlived its purpose.”

“Has it ever lived up to it?”

Remus bit down on a grin and cleared his throat. “So you’re all in? – If not, now’s the time to say so.”

However, no one said so. Instead, tentative nods were seen all around, and after a few moments of intense frowning and scowling, even Snape contributed an assenting sigh.

 

 

_In the next chapter, Elena is likely to catch some heat for going behind a certain person’s back – again. However, she has an ace up her sleeve to achieve appeasement. Draco is going to be discussed, which gives Severus a brilliant, though difficult idea. And there is an invitation outstanding …_

 


	19. How to Steal a Car

**How to Steal a Car**

 

Severus Snape suffered through the rest of the meeting in silence. From under his curtain of black hair – not as greasy as it used to be, as he had taken a little better care as of late – he watched the people in the room chatting and arguing. Far too many Gryffindors to feel at ease, but he had long ago resigned himself to the fact of being outnumbered within the framework of the Order. So he listened warily to them discussing potential new members, each one at considerable length. Nell Nolan was once more suggested by Lupin and the proposal met with no opposition. The Potter boy mentioned Eddard Hincks, but Lupin’s reaction was vague, he murmured something about ‘giving it a thought’ and his eyes briefly swept over Snape who grinned bitterly. The werewolf was in for a bad scolding and he knew it. However, Severus had to wait a little longer for an opportunity to vent his anger since once Gryffindors got chatty, there was no end to it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Elena. She, too, appeared to have no interest in joining into the general conversation. In fact, she seemed thoughtful, was probably thinking about the mission that Severus knew full well he could do nothing to talk her out of. The anger he felt was only partially directed at her, although of course she had once more taken a decision without counselling him. The brunt of his anger, however, was reserved for Lupin. Clever move, to approach her alone – of course she wouldn’t say no when asked to contribute something for the famed Order of the Phoenix! And so in Severus’ mind, Lupin had taken full advantage of her and this he intended to avenge, if not in deeds then certainly by the most cutting words he could come up with.

He saw Elena twitch a little, then turn her head over her shoulder to meet his gaze, as if she had felt his eyes on her. Right away she presented him with that smile, the one he found difficult to look away from, but which was still too radiant for comfort in present company. Not the least restraint there, he noted sourly. But then he gravitated towards her, as well, against his will almost, as if his body refused to accept the iron control his mind tried to exert. He wouldn’t have minded in other circumstances, but here, in this house – the master of which had once been his arch enemy Sirius Black and which was now swarming with Gryffindors – it irked him. Plus, he didn’t want her to think that he approved of her decision, so Severus returned her gaze with a cold stare. Her eyebrows shot up and she pushed her lower lip forward in a rebellious pout. She, too, knew what was coming.

But first things first, which meant Lupin. Before long, the tired werewolf broke up the session, reminding everyone that the reformation of the Order of the Phoenix must remain a secret in the wizarding world. Soon after that, its proud members pushed out of the salon and Elena, who remained standing in the middle of it and looked a little forlorn, was dragged off by Molly Weasley towards the kitchens, despite her protestations that she really was ‘not that much into cooking’.

“A word”, Snape accosted Lupin with a snarl.

Remus sighed while he watched as the last person to leave the room – Arthur Weasley, with a marked look of pity on his face – closed the door behind himself. “If you must. – Though you can really hold your breath because I know exactly what you’re going to say.”

“What were you _thinking_!?! Didn’t I tell you that I didn’t want her to have any part in this?”

“You did. And I told you that I disagree. And that it should be her decision.”

“Of course she was going to say ‘yes’!” Severus hissed. “That’s the way she is, it’s not like her to brush off a request like this! Which you should have known!”

“I did”, Remus admitted with a grimace.

“This is not how it’s going to work, Lupin! If you and I are to head this operation, we should agree on all accounts …”

“Unlikely!”

“… and not go over each other’s heads!”

“I’ll remind you of that the first time _you_ do it!”

“Which I’m going to! You owe me one now!”

“Let me guess. Draco Malfoy.”

By way of a reply, Snape grinned maliciously.

“I doubt the others will agree”, Lupin pointed out.

“You’ll make them.”

“I’ll do no such thing! Nobody trusts Draco!”

“ _I_ trust him. Draco is a very capable wizard and he has learnt his lesson. He will be a valuable addition.”

“The others have a say in the matter, as well. I doubt that you’ll be able to convince them, but you can try.”

“No. I’m going to pull a Lupin. Present them with an accomplished fact. It’s only right.”

Remus chuckled bitterly. “Good luck with that! – And honestly, Severus, I don’t understand you! Don’t you see how perfect Elena is for this? Anyone else would have to think up a good motive for getting into the academy. But she … she’s cut out for it, no one will question it!”

“I’m not so sure of that. Everyone knows now that she is my student.”

Lupin’s face changed, became sly. “Yeah. Something would have to be done about that.”

Snape twitched irritably. “What d’you mean?” But before Lupin could reply, he went on. “Whatever, I think this is madness! True, she’d probably get into that academy, but have you even wasted a thought on what happens then?”

“Depends on what she finds. We’ll have to play it by ear.”

“ _Play it by ear_!?! That’s your plan? You might as well take a lamb to slaughter!”

“Lamb to slaughter, after she’s saved your life, twice!”

“I don’t want her to get involved!”

“Get off it, Severus!” Lupin thundered, now seriously angered. “You’re neither her father, nor her husband, and even if you were, that’d give you no right to dictate her actions. – Apart from that, I know you! You don’t want a pot plant!”

“ _What_??”

“A doormat, then. Someone who’ll shy away from any kind of challenge and keep you at home, cooing ‘no, honey, don’t do that, it’s too dangerous …’ – You’d hate that!”

Snape’s eyes widened with alarm. “You got the wrong end of the stick here, Lupin, she is …”

“… your student, I know.” It sounded incredibly bored. “And because she’s your student you behave like a clucking hen when it comes to her!” It was one of the rare occasions which left Snape speechless. A _clucking hen_ , indeed? Lupin took the chance and went on. “Would you have been interested in Lily if she’d been quiet and acquiescent? No, you wouldn’t. Her liveliness, her courage – that’s what was special about her, and you know it. Elena’s very much like that.”

Snape swallowed hard. “What are you trying to say?” he croaked.

“That you can’t have it both. Take an adventurous young woman under your wings and then expect that she’ll steer clear of adventure!”

“I don’t have to drive her into it, either!”

Remus’ narrowed eyes went from dangerous to tired. “This conversation is futile. The decision has been made – or do you have any illusions that you’re going to talk her out of it?”

“That ship has sailed”, Snape acknowledged gloomily, “thanks to you.”

“So I suggest that you help her as best you can. George was right, you know. There’s no one more suitable to prepare her for her task than you. – Also … I don’t know if it has occurred to you … you and Elena will have to fake some kind of discord.”

Maybe he had expected Severus to flare once more, but instead he only got a very cold glance. “That much is obvious.”

“Since Elena has brushed off the Crowley woman and her academy, she needs a credible motive to go back on it.”

“And I detest you even more for putting her into that position!”

“Detest me all you like, Severus. But knowing you and her, you’ll come up with some charade. You might even enjoy it.”

“Some nerve you have!”

“No, I don’t. In fact, my nerves are wearing thin …” As if to illustrate this, Remus pressed down on the bridge of his nose.

Severus duly noted his worn and tired look, but he was too angry to show any kind of concern. However, he cancelled the cutting remark that was on the tip of his tongue. “You owe me one”, he repeated instead, “keep that in mind. Draco. I won’t be deterred.”

Remus rolled his eyes and shrugged. “You can try. I can’t say I care too much. However, I _would_ like to eat now. Molly’s cooking.”

Severus shuddered, not because of Molly’s cooking – which he knew to be excellent, though as a rule he never praised food – but because irritation blocked his stomach. He’d had it with impetuous Gryffindor schemes and wanted to get out of here, the sooner the better. With a last haughty look at the harassed werewolf, he left the salon to find himself in an empty hallway. He heard lively chatter from the kitchens, and that elicited another shudder. Swiftly and quietly he made for the front door.

“Severus …”

He wheeled around and looked into Elena’s wide eyes. She looked a little flushed and had obviously just snuck out from under Molly’s supervision. “Are you leaving without saying good-bye??”

He rolled his eyes. “Gosh, Elena, we’re neighbours …”

“Still …” She smiled uncertainly.

“They won’t expect me to say good-bye”, he explained, “they won’t even care.”

“But I do.”

“Well …” He didn’t know what to say.

“Because there’s something I wanted to show you!” Her eyes were suddenly bright with excitement.

“Can’t it wait? I have to be back at Hogwarts in … well, soon.”

“But I’ve been waiting to show you for days!”

There was something about her, the flushed cheeks, the girlish eagerness … Severus felt himself go soft inside, and although he was usually good at ignoring such feelings, he had recently noticed that he couldn’t always be bothered to do it anymore. “I guess there’s still time”, he sighed, “but doesn’t Molly want you in the kitchen?”

“Yeah, she wants to show me how to cook with a wand”, Elena replied with a marked lack of enthusiasm. “She won’t accept that I’m not the house-wifey type …”

This made him smile a little – a result of the softness he had allowed. “Let’s go then”, he suggested.

“Great!” Elena got her cloak from the peg – since Snape had given it to her, she always put it on when venturing out into the wizarding world (she loved to have a whiff of his scent around her) – and as soon as she’d donned it, she stretched out her hand for his. Severus’ eyebrows went up.

“Today _I_ am going to Apparate us!” she explained with a secretive smile.

“Good Lord. Will I survive this?”

“Shut up already”, she said with a chuckle, firmly took his hand and dragged him out of the front door onto the street. He allowed it with a bemused look. She found them an inconspicuous spot, and a moment later they Disapparated with the usual sharp crack.

As soon as his feet touched solid ground, Severus looked about. It took him a while to realize where he was; a narrow alley not far from Elena’s dancing school. The last time he’d been here had been Halloween when he’d looked for her everywhere without realizing that she’d been kidnapped. The memory made him scowl. “You’re not trying to make me sign up for one of your dancing classes again, are you?” he grumped in an attempt to hide his discomfort.

“Would if I could”, she replied curtly, “but this is more important than dancing.”

She still held on to his hand and appeared to have no intention of letting go as she dragged him towards the busy main road. Thinking that he was a little bit too old to be led around like a child, he gently freed himself of her grip as she took on a swift pace, almost bursting with intention.

The walk was longer than he had expected, but eventually Elena stopped in front of a pub. Severus eyed it suspiciously. “A little early in the day, don’t you think?”

She giggled. “I don’t mean the pub! I mean this.” She pointed at a large black Mercedes parked on the curb. There was a nasty scratch across its side and someone had smeared ‘WANKER’ across the bonnet with a handful of dirt. “D’you recognize it?”

As soon as she’d asked he did and inadvertently his eyes became wide. “That’s Leshnikov’s car!”

“Yeah.” She was grinning happily. “I don’t know why I didn’t think about it earlier, but it suddenly occurred to me that he drove us to this pub on Halloween night. But he Disapparated with me when he kidnapped me, so I figured the car must still be here, unless of course someone from the Ministry had taken care of it, which somehow seemed …”

“… unlikely”, he finished her sentence. He started walking around the car. “When did you find it?”

“A couple of days ago. Unfortunately, I don’t have the key …”

Severus cast her a very patronizing look. “ _Alohomora_ , perhaps?”

“Does it work on cars?”

“Works on anything with a door.”

As if to illustrate, Snape took out his wand and waved it discreetly. The door to the driver’s seat came open and he peered inside carefully. From the look on his face, Elena could tell that he was just as pleased as she was.

“We’re going to take it with us!” he said to her over the dirty black roof of the Mercedes. “Let me just have to figure out how …”

Now it was Elena’s turn to cast him a funny look. “ _Drive_ , perhaps?”

“I can’t”, he admitted.

“But I can.”

“You do??”

She laughed. The ability to drive a car never ceased to amaze witches and wizards. Cassie had explained to her that only a small number of them could do it. After all, who wanted to go through the lengthy process of acquiring a driver’s licence if they could Apparate? “Get in”, she said with a wink, “passenger seat, preferably.”

“I’m not dumb”, he growled, but did as she had asked him.

The car was comfortable, spacious and the leather seats gave off an agreeable smell. As soon as they had settled in, Elena inspected the dashboard, the gearshift and various levers. Actually, she wasn’t as comfortable with this as she had made Severus believe. So far, she had only driven small cars, and never on the left side, either. However, she resolved not to let Snape in on this and to fake self-assurance instead. “Seat belt!” she commanded brightly.

“Come again?”

She rolled her eyes, reached across him and dragged the belt out of its socket. “Have you never even _been_ in a car?”

“My father had one when I was little”, he said. “Nothing like this, though. Later on, he couldn’t afford it anymore.”

The mention of his father made Elena look glum. It also made her realize that she had pushed what Severus had told her about the way he’d died and his mother’s probable part in it completely out of her mind. The mere fact, however, that he had volunteered this small detail from his family life – about which he hardly ever spoke otherwise – showed that it was on the forefront of his thoughts all the time. He caught her look and returned an irritated twitch.

To hide her thoughts, Elena started to rummage below the dashboard and yanked out two wires. “Can you short-circuit these?”

He was glad about the change of subject and raised his wand.

“Wait! Let me get the pedals first. – Now!”

The spell was precise and well-measured. The Mercedes’ engine shuddered into life and its sound was a satisfying fat purr. It made a small smile come to Severus’ face. Elena grinned. Guys and cars …

Getting out of the parking gap with this huge battleship of a Mercedes proved a little complicated and made Severus’ smile turn into an expression of worry (she heard him mutter a spell under his breath, probably for protection). Luckily, driving on the left side was less of a problem than she had expected as everybody did it. The way she knew from countless bus journeys and so, after a few minutes, they were well on their way to Cokeworth. Slowly, Snape relaxed and took to watching what she was doing, how she operated the pedals and manipulated the gearshift. Elena detected a reluctantly respectful glimmer in his eyes.

“Not so bad, this Muggle invention, is it?” she remarked mirthfully.

“Considering the means at their disposal, yes, it’s quite something”, he admitted.

He then started to ask her a range of questions about cars. When she had learnt, who had taught her, and had she ever driven a sports car? (When she said ‘No’, he appeared disappointed.) She told him then that her father earned a living by constructing the darn things, and this led to new questions about technical details that she wasn’t even remotely able to answer. However, it was obvious that he was indeed familiar with the physical principles that governed motor vehicles. This corroborated Elena’s long-standing suspicion that he was more interested in the Muggle world than he usually let on. When he’d run out of questions, he settled back in his seat, watched the road ahead and her movements as they neared Cokeworth.

“Severus?” she started after a while.

“Yeah?”

“Are you mad at me?”

No answer for a few moments. “A little”, he murmured eventually. Fact was that he had to remind himself of the anger he had felt at Grimmauld Place in order to recover an echo of it. “But I can see that Lupin put you in a position where you couldn’t possibly say no.”

“I wouldn’t have said no”, she declared, “regardless of the position.”

He commented this with a scowl.

“Don’t look at me like that, Severus. We have talked about this. You have to let me make my own decisions and you can’t forever try to protect me.”

“I can certainly try to talk you out of utter nonsense!”

“But this is not utter nonsense! Remus was right! I’m perfect for this job. Crappy witch sorely in need of education, could you ask for more?”

“Crappy witch venturing into what might be a lion’s den”, he growled. “I call it a recipe for disaster!”

“I’ll be careful”, Elena murmured, but she looked a little hurt.

Snape said nothing for a while, but shot her a couple of irritated side glances. “What I’m worried about”, he started eventually, “is that you might not know when to let off. Too much eagerness can be dangerous, and like Molly said today, I can’t shake the feeling either that you’re desperately trying to prove yourself.”

“I’m not proving myself!” she flared with a plaintive note in her voice. “I’m trying to help! Do you really think I’m that hungry for recognition??”

“I think you _are_ a little hungry for recognition”, he replied evenly.

“It’s not about that!” she claimed. “Everything that has happened to you in the past months has also happened to me! I know that you’d rather not have me involved, but I am, have been for quite a while! And I don’t like any of the things that have happened, so please stop giving me heat for wanting to do something about it! Do you know, anyway, how often we’ve had this conversation? Frankly, it’s getting boring, aside from the fact that it won’t change anything!”

Her voice had become fiercer with every word, and by the end of her speech her eyes sparkled angrily. Severus watched this with interest. He remembered Lupin’s words, _‘You don’t want a pot plant!’_ No, he didn’t. Plus, she looked most like a witch when she was at her angriest. He let a few minutes pass without comment and watched her drive instead. The anger translated to her movements and she yanked at the gearshift viciously. He had to come up with something that would take her mind off.

“We have to work on your Occlumency. If you go in there, you will need it.”

“But I’m horrible at it”, she pressed forth between clenched teeth.

“You’re not”, he sighed. “Also, you have to bear in mind that not a lot of witches and wizards know a first thing about Occlumency. The best of us can’t do it. What’s more, in that academy hardly anyone is going to expect that _you_ can. That will be some advantage.”

She saw his point, but also the difficulty. “Remus said that in order for me to get accepted at the academy, you and me might have to fake some kind of discord. You see, I more or less told that Crowley woman to shove her academy you-know-where, that I had no need for it because I had you. For that reason, I need a solid explanation for crawling back to her doorstep.”

“I realize that. We’ll find a way.”

“Do you think it’s believable? That we had some kind of argument and are not talking anymore?”

“Do I think it’s believable that you eventually came to see me as a jerk? Absolutely.”

She smiled then, her anger blown away as quickly as it had surfaced.

In the meantime, they had reached Cokeworth. The black Mercedes glided through the streets at a moderate pace and soon they arrived at the least pretty part of this unpretty town. Elena found a parking spot beside a bleak-looking playground just around the corner from Spinner’s End.

“Is this car ours now?” she asked as she killed the engine.

“Yes.” No uncertainty in Snape’s reply.

“Isn’t that a little …”

“What? Leshnikov is dead. The Ministry’s not interested in what they could learn from this car. Hence, no one’s going to look for it. And couldn’t you use a car, seeing that you tend to fall off brooms?”

Sometimes, there was just no arguing with his logic. Elena smiled broadly. “Let’s search it then, shall we?”

Severus gave a curt nod, and right away they went to work, each of them on their side at first, rummaging through the glove box and any compartment they could find. Then they got out, and while Elena scrutinized the backseats – for something, anything, really – Snape opened the boot.

“It’s empty”, he reported, disappointment in his voice.

“Completely?” Elena asked, straightening her back.

“Except for some specks of dust …”

“There must be a first-aid box and a spare tyre, at least …”

“I’m telling you. Nothing.”

“Ah!” Swiftly, she came to his side and stared into the boot which in fact appeared completely empty. However, she also found it a little small for such a large car. Elena dove in and let her hands glide over the carpeted surface of the boot. She eventually found the mechanism that allowed her to lift of the bottom to reveal a generous space below. It held the spare tyre in a recess, the associated equipment and the first-aid box, as well as cans with engine oil and defroster. She took all of this out piece by piece, and at last she lifted the tyre. Beneath it, a leather folder came into view. The moment Snape saw it, he gave a satisfied grunt and snatched it, not even thinking about relieving Elena from the weight of the spare tyre (but she had accepted this by now, that he was only chivalrous when it suited him). Soon after, they sat in the car again, looking at the leather folder. Severus carefully released the straps around it and it fell open. What they saw made them held their breath. There were sheets after sheets of paper, covered in symbols and squiggles, but that wasn’t what made them stare. It was the emblem heading the papers; a jackal head with dead eyes, the mask of Anubis.

For more than a minute, none of them spoke. Their minds were busy with the implications of what they had discovered.

“Is this a coincidence?” Elena whispered eventually.

Severus looked at her coolly. “Do you really think that?”

She shook her head.

“Nor do I”, he said. “Let’s face it. This proves beyond a doubt that there _is_ a conspiracy. And Leshnikov was somehow part of it.”

“Somehow?”

Severus shrugged. “I have been thinking about this a lot. How he was able to get here, to set himself up so well with that perfect cover. Certainly that would have been easier to achieve if he had help.”

“But I always thought his motives were personal? His wife dying in the fire?”

“That’s not mutually exclusive. In fact, the grudge he had against me may have been utilized by the jackal-mask cowards. Maybe their reasoning was to let Leshnikov try and get to me first, after all he might have succeeded which would have meant one job less for them.”

“But now he’s dead, which means that …”

“… they have to do the dirty work, yes. – Lupin said something about this. He believes that there is a secret organization that helps Death Eaters in hiding, gets them out of the country; but they also have a different agenda. Undermining the wizarding world, for instance, quietly replacing the positions of power. And as it appears, this is exactly what’s happening right now.”

“And possibly, it’s connected to the Crowleys and their academy.”

“Possibly. We don’t know that yet. – However, if it is true, it makes your spy work all the more dangerous.”

“And more important. I can’t go back on it now.”

“You can, if you want to.”

“I don’t want to. I couldn’t live with myself if I did.”

Snape sighed. A deep vertical line appeared above his nose, as it always did when he was worried or thinking hard.

“What about this writing?” Elena asked quickly to forestall another discussion. “Looks like a code, doesn’t it?”

Severus nodded. “I’m sure that’s what it is. A secret code.”

“It looks really complex. We’re not going to figure that out.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” He took up one of the sheets and scrutinized it. “A code is no more than a language. You can figure it out once you are able to find a start. It may take quite a while, but it is really not so different from a puzzle.”

“I’m no good at puzzles”, Elena said and wrinkled her nose.

“I am”, Severus replied with a chuffed smile. “And I know a witch who’s very good at it, as well.”

“Your mother?”

But he shook his head. “Hermione Granger. You can say what you want about that girl, but she’s got a good head. Plus, she’s a member of the Order. And this is most certainly a case for the Order; I won’t entrust the Ministry with it.”

“Clearly not”, Elena agreed, then tilted her head, musing. “I wonder why the jackal-mask guys didn’t get Leshnikov’s car?”

“Because they are wizards”, Snape said matter-of-factly. “To them, a Muggle thing such as a car is inconsequential. That’s the way they think. That’s also why it took _you_ to find it.”

Elena felt her cheeks starting to glow with pride. She also went into a kind of investigative enthusiasm. “Go through the papers”, she suggested, “maybe we can finally find Leshnikov’s base? Where he lived? He must have lived somewhere!”

Severus went through the stack of sheets, carefully turning each one of them, but there was nothing except for symbols and squiggles. He wasn’t exactly surprised. “Leshnikov would have been stupid to keep personal information with this. And if we know one thing for certain, it is that he was anything but stupid.”

“So we can do nothing but figure out the code?”

“ _I_ can do nothing but figure out the code”, Severus said, and to Elena’s surprise, there was a small smile on his lips. “You, however, have a car of your own now.”

“I do!” Elena smiled with pleasure. “But its really _ours_.” She liked the thought of possessing something with him, especially something as familial as a car.

“It’s more yours because you found it and I can’t drive”, he said with a shrug.

“I could teach you!”

He looked her over speculatively. “You could. But not anytime soon. We are to have a bitter falling-out, remember?”

“I remember”, she said with a dejected sigh. “That also means that we can’t see each other so much anymore. How are you going to prepare me for spying under these circumstances?”

“I told you, we’ll find a way”, he said curtly, but his black eyes on her face were soft. “You should let Draco help you with that, as well”, he added, more carefully than he had intended, and maybe too carefully because Elena’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. She looked like somebody who was putting two and two together.

“About Draco … don’t take this the wrong way, Severus, but … could it be that you are having him follow me around?”

His eyes went from soft to cold in an instant, and that was how she knew that she’d hit the nail on the head. “I have told him to look after you”, he admitted, “because you could learn a lot from him.”

“Is that the only reason? – Or let me put it this way: was it Draco who told you about my meeting with McVey?”

It was one thing to tell her the noble truth instead for the self-serving one, but quite another to lie directly to her face. And so he admitted it. “But not because I had him follow you. In fact, his task was to follow McVey.”

“Which gave you the idea that you could just as easily have him tail me?”

He rolled his eyes. “Your meeting with McVey behind my back was a blow to me! I didn’t know if I could trust you anymore.”

“I told you, I just didn’t get around to tell you right away! And you’re putting Draco on my heels? How is that for trust?! It’s _so_ unfair!” Abruptly, she turned away in her seat and stared out of the car window. To her own horror, tears pricked her eyes. She wasn’t usually so spontaneously emotional, but it was just the thing that he brought out in her.

Snape stared at the back of her head for a while, unsure of how to talk to her. He leant forward, tried to catch her eyes, but she turned away even more, hugged herself. He stretched out his hand, wanted to grip her shoulder and turn her around, but he sensed just in time that she would hate that. So he merely touched her hand with the tips of his fingers and said her name, very very quietly.

“Why don’t you trust me?” she hissed. “Don’t I deserve it, after all that happened?” There was a certain degree of wailing in her voice.

He really hated that, women making a show of being hurt. Then again, she most probably was, and maybe not for the worst of reasons. He breathed deeply before he spoke. “It’s not easy for me. You know that.”

She scoffed while her back remained turned and uncommunicative. Severus saw that he had to make more of an effort – which he hated even more and wouldn’t have done for most people. “When I told Draco to look after you”, he started labouredly, “my aim was first and foremost to protect you from the likes of McVey.”

“I told you, you can’t protect me all the time!”

His natural reaction would have been to groan and jump out of the car, slam the door shut behind him and be gone. To not do exactly that took a lot of deep breaths. When he spoke eventually, his voice was a little shaky. “Too many people have suffered because of me. I won’t let that happen again, not if I can avoid it.”

No reaction, no turning around. He groaned for real. “I _do_ trust you, alright? – There you have it! Don’t make me say it again!”

Slowly, she turned her head. Her face was as impassive as his at times, and would have fooled him, had he not noted the moistness of her eyes. “How hard was that?” she murmured with a withering look at him, but he knew that she was only trying to keep up a façade of pride, was already failing at it and would come around. He felt an easing of tension within himself and recognized it as relief.

“You don’t like Draco, do you?” he asked unusually gently.

She fidgeted. “I don’t know. There’s something about him … this arrogance … this golden-spoon-in-his-mouth thing …”

“Are you sure that this isn’t envy talking? I felt it too, when I was younger. The truth is, Draco is who he is, he was raised with certain standards and values. Of course, it shows. – However, Draco went through a very rough time and it has left an imprint. He has changed. He is also, deep down, a good person.”

Her eyes met his reluctantly. “You like him a lot, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do. And this is why I’d like to ask you to make an effort. For me. – If you can.” The last words he added in a hurry.

She stared at her lap for a while. Then she looked up, sought his eyes. “Alright”, she said in a small voice.

“Good”, he said, when he really meant ‘Thanks’.

His eyes fell on the clock on the dashboard. “I have to get going”, he said with some alarm. “Hogwarts.”

She nodded and they got out of the car, Snape carrying the leather folder under his arm. Outside, they stood facing each other a little awkwardly.

“Well”, Elena started, “I guess the first thing I’m going to do now is write an owl to Magrathea Crowley. Ask her to accept me for her blasted academy.”

“Demand rather than ask”, Snape counselled her. “She shouldn’t get the impression that you’re begging, as it will make her suspicious. All you’re doing is take her up on her offer. And don’t explain anything unless she asks you right out.”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Good.” He nodded to her, which was his way of saying good-bye. There was an exchange of looks, and once again their eyes refused to part, but eventually Snape turned sharply and walked away.

 

* * *

 

Elena remained standing by the Mercedes and watched his retreating figure. As always after being with him, her emotions were in upheaval. She just couldn’t figure him out; there were moments when she was almost certain that he cared more than he admitted, that he might even be in love with her, but held back for other reasons, reasons that were hard to understand for her, but made perfect sense in his world and with his psychological set-up. Then again, she might in fact have been no more than a student to him, one he’d had an unfortunate episode with and as a result felt somehow obliged to. She hated that uncertainty and it was what made her mood erratic and unpredictable.

With a sigh, she turned to the car – _her_ car! (at least, there was some pleasure in that realization) – discretely whipped out her wand and performed a scouring charm on it. The film of dirt as well as the charming inscription on the bonnet vanished and in the next moment, the car was as clean and shiny as when she had first seen it. She could hardly wait to tell Cassie about it, although, of course, her friend mustn’t know how she’d got it.

She went home, deep in thought. In her mind, she was composing the owl to Magrathea Crowley. That, at least, took her mind off her inner turmoil, although she was far more apprehensive about the whole thing – that she would have to be a spy and that she would be in on it by herself – than she had admitted to Severus. However, there was no going back on it now. After all, as of this day she was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and she couldn’t help feeling immensely proud about that …

 

* * *

 

Before taking off to Hogwarts, Severus Snape went back to his house. He wanted to get some books, but most of all, he needed to think something through and was relieved to find everything quiet and seemingly no one about. Only when he entered the sitting room did he hear Gilly’s high-pitched voice in his back.

“Master!”

“I’m not really here”, Severus informed her tersely.

Gilly ignored this. “Does the master need anything?”

“A moment alone, if you please.”

“Of course!” Gilly hopped away eagerly, but Snape thought twice.

“Wait! – Where is my mother?”

“Mistress Prince has gone out.”

“Where to?”

“Gilly don’t know.”

Snape considered this. “Does she often go out?”

“Every day, master.”

“And you have no idea on what business?”

“Mistress Prince don’t tell Gilly. Mistress Prince is very private.”

“I guess she is”, he murmured thoughtfully. “That’d be all, you can go.”

Gilly bowed obligingly and disappeared without a sound.

As soon as she was gone, Severus sat down at his desk and checked the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. He still had about ten minutes, enough to peruse the idea that had sprung up in his mind while discussing Draco with Elena. And while he went over it again, he came to the conclusion that it was a brilliant idea, one that would allow him to kill two birds with one stone, or maybe even three; on the one hand, it would provide protection for Elena as she went about that half-assed academy business; on the other hand, it would provide a good cover, would give the faked ‘falling-out’ a solid base and a very understandable reason; and eventually, it would ensure Draco a place in the Order. It was also a difficult idea, the presenting of which would require tact and diplomacy – not usually his strong suits, but hard to avoid. There was also an aspect of it that he didn’t like at all, but he was ready to convince himself that it was a price he had to pay. At the same time, it didn’t in any way diminish the brilliance of what he’d come up with. In fact, the more Severus thought about it, the more pleased he was with himself, so pleased in fact, that he almost overheard the soft rapping at his sitting room window.

An owl had arrived. Not a black one, but a rare and very elegant breed with a coat of silvery grey. Severus let it in and took the roll of parchment from its foot. The handwriting was vaguely familiar, very neat and feminine.

 

_Dear Severus,_

_It has been a long time since we have last seen each other, so I hope this finds you well. I have been thinking a lot about you recently and I was very happy to find out that you and Draco have reconnected, especially since Lucius is currently a bit under the weather. You cannot imagine how happy it makes me that you are taking an interest; as always when you do, my worries have become less, and for that I am deeply grateful._

_Please join me at Malfoy Manor one of these days. I was thinking about dinner and would love the opportunity to see you and catch up. Sadly, I cannot promise that Lucius will be prepared to join us, but Draco certainly will, and hence, your coming will also be an occasion for me to see my boy again. You can understand that I won’t take ‘No’ for an answer, don’t you?_

_I’m waiting for you to get in touch and hope that you will do so soon._

_Affectionately,_

_Narcissa_

_P.S.: Of course, you can bring someone. Draco mentioned that you might want to, and it will even out the number at the table in Lucius’ absense._

 

Snape let the parchment sink into his lap and tilted back his head against the rest. He didn’t know whether to groan or to laugh out loud at the postscript. Neither could he bring himself to respond right away. Such things had to be considered at length.

However, Narcissa’s invitation run in a nice parallel to his idea, and hence it was hard to believe in coincidence. It was Elena who had once told him that when fate made things coincide neatly, it usually meant well.

Only when he was at Hogwarts did he realize how much the invitation as such meant to him, and this put him in a good mood for the rest of the day.

 

 


	20. A Severe Idea

**A Severe Idea**

 

Almost a week passed by without any remarkable occurrence. November ran into December, but the snow of a few weeks before had vanished without a trace and the weather was more reminiscent of a very wet October. Elena divided up her time between working on her thesis and taking up teaching at the dancing school again. Every few days she got up early and ventured out with Cassie to pick winter herbs and dig out roots at the crack of dawn, and it always surprised her how many magical plants could be found even at this time of year with vegetation supposedly resting. She did this to help the Clearys and to earn herself a few Sickles; since she was living in two worlds, she also needed to stay at least halfway afloat in both so as not to feel like a complete scrounger all the time. Plus, staying occupied helped her not to think too much of what would happen if she finally got accepted at the Academy. Not that there were any signs of that yet. Every morning, she waited for an owl to arrive in reply to the one she’d written (under Lux’s careful supervision), asking for admission. However, no owl came, apart from those sent by Lupin and Snape, asking in an encrypted manner whether she’d had any news yet.

When more than a week had passed, Elena began to convince herself that she wouldn’t be admitted after all, and she was a little surprised at the relief she felt about that realization. At least, if she didn’t get accepted, there was no need to fake a discord with Severus, a detail that irked her to no end. Not to be able to see him – and now, too, when she intuited that their connection was becoming stronger each time they met – was something she found hard to accept. Elena was afraid that it might destroy what was developing between them, the growing trust, the increasing dependence upon each other. – Of course, she might be imagining all this. Maybe there was nothing between them but wishful thinking on her part. Her mood swings were still considerable. On some days, she was optimistic, almost happy in fact, remembering his intense looks, the way he’d tried to get to her and calm her down when they’d sat in the car together, and she felt as she had at Grimmauld Place, telling herself that they already _had_ a relationship. On other days, however, this seemed like an illusion and she was only able to remember the things that proved the contrary: his reticence; his outbursts of temper with her; the fact that his Patronus was still a doe … If truth be told, her days were an eternal struggle to keep the balance between these opposite moods, and Elena had a hard time with it.

In the evenings, she often couldn’t help gazing out of her bedroom window towards the house on the other side of the street. The sitting room curtains were usually drawn, but there was a discrete glow coming from between the gaps. Eileen Snape, no, Eileen _Prince_ was still there, as Severus had predicted, and it didn’t look like she was going to leave any time soon. Elena never saw the woman around, though, she was as naturally private as her son. Ever since Severus had told her how his father had died, a shiver ran down Elena’s spine when she thought of the opposite house’s inhabitant. It was hard to put the thought out of her mind that she lived more or less next door to a murderess. What was more, she knew this and did nothing about it. Of course, she didn’t because of Severus, because he had asked her to keep it to herself, which she did, for his sake only which was, however, a strong argument. Privately, she was very wary about that witch and was glad she never encountered her out on the street.

When she needed to take her mind off things, Elena sometimes went joyriding in her new car. It was a little uncharacteristic for her as she was not a motoring aficionado at all, but in her mind the Mercedes now belonged to Severus and her and taking it out for a spin made her feel close to him. It was a good thing to have it, too, as it helped her to get around, but in an inconspicuous Muggle way. Cassie loved it, as well, and Elena had started to instruct her friend in driving, using the courtyard of an abandoned factory. It was difficult, though. Cassie had never operated any Muggle machines, it wasn’t intuitive to her and it took a while until she was even able to tell the pedals apart. Luckily, the protective charm that Snape had put on ‘little gnat’ (as Elena had named the car in memory of Pavel Leshnikov’s alias, Komarek) still appeared to be intact, and when Elena parked the vehicle in the discrete spot near the abandoned playground, she put an Obscuring spell on it that made it look battered and ordinary in Muggle eyes and significantly reduced the temptation to steal the thing.

She used the car to get to the dancing school, as well. This earned her a few glares, especially from her boss Sue who would have very much liked to possess such a car.

“Did you steal it?” she asked testily one day after watching Elena parking the Mercedes on the curb.

“Yes”, Elena replied with a grin, “from a banker, actually.” If she had to deceive, deceiving with the truth was her most favourite option.

“Ah, get off it!” Sue scoffed and turned around with a withering glare at ‘little gnat’.

Micah, her colleague and dancing partner, was far less envious although visibly fascinated. The first time he saw the car, he walked around it, inspecting every angle, and then asked respectfully if he might sit in it.

“Did your boyfriend give it to you?” he wanted to know, his hands gently gliding over the steering wheel.

“My boyfriend??” Elena, who sat in the passenger seat, gave him a funny look.

“The black-haired guy with the nose”, Micah explained. He had seen Severus on a few occasions, but never spoken to him because Snape hadn’t allowed it, hadn’t even acknowledged Micah’s existence. “You’re not going to tell me again that he’s your _uncle_ , are you?”

Elena blushed. She remembered the day that Snape had first taken her to Diagon Alley; in fact, she had told Micah that he was her uncle who’d take her to buy new dancing shoes. The lie appeared nothing short of ridiculous now. That had been early days, and her relationship with Severus very different from what it was today, though even then – and, if truth be told, from the moment of their first encounter – she had been deeply fascinated. “Yeah, you’re right”, she said hastily to Micah, “he got it for me.”

Micah surveyed the dashboard with its instruments, the expensive leather seats, the luxurious mahogany gearshift. “He must be really fond of you”, he remarked.

“Yeah”, Elena said sarcastically, “a guy’s affections can always be measured in horsepower, can’t it?”

“Definitely!” said Micah with a grin. “Anyway, I hope you’re happy.” This a little wistful, as Micah had always had a ‘thing’ for her, and Elena had had a minor ‘thing’ for him as well, right up to when she’d met Severus. “And it’s great you’re back!”

This referred to her weeks of absence after the smoke poisoning, and Micah sounded sincere. Elena saw that he had also resigned himself to the new developments and as they took up their dancing training, the atmosphere was as easy going as ever. Maybe, with a little luck, she hadn’t just lost an admirer, but gained a friend. She and Micah discussed new classes that they were going to introduce at the school, specifically a Salsa course, and practiced the steps they were going to teach. There were also a number of new students – mostly soon-to-be-married couples practicing for their spring weddings – and they discussed how Elena could pitch in. It didn’t take long for her to get back into it, although after the first few training sessions she felt the long break she’d taken and had sore calves and feet for days.

One late afternoon and after two hours of going through Slow fox technique in detail (it seemed inconceivable how a dance that looked so romantically floating and dreamy could be such hard work), she left the studio to find none other than Draco Malfoy waiting at the reception. He leant against the counter, hair falling dashingly into his face, and had involved Sue into a conversation that quite obviously fascinated the older woman to no end, which was telling in itself because Sue was a hardened business woman and not easily impressed.

“Hi there”, he said lazily when he saw Elena, “you look in desperate need of a shower.”

In fact, she was sweaty all over with dark rings under her armpits.

“Slow fox”, Sue purred at him temptingly, batting her lashes, “how about it, dear? We’ll make you sweat in no time, I promise.”

“Thank you, Sue, that’s tempting”, Draco replied smoothly and with a surprisingly charming smile, “I might take you up on it.”

“Really?” Elena raised a sarcastic eyebrow. Looking at him how he stood there, exuding nonchalance and carelessness, in black denims, crisp white shirt, black leather jacket and well-polished shoes (all of it simple, all of it visibly expensive), she momentarily forgot her resolution to be nice to him. “I’d like to see _that_!”

“Don’t be like this, Ellie”, Sue hissed, admonishing her with carefully painted eyes not to be edgy to potential clients.

“Don’t worry, she’s only being her charming self”, Draco drawled, his eyes flashing at Elena amusedly. “Actually, I’m a good dancer. Or that’s what I’ve been told.”

“Well, then – what are you waiting for?” Sue gave him a dazzling smile. Before she vanished into her office behind the reception counter, Elena saw her mouth _‘Who’s the cutie?’_ behind Draco’s back.

“Quite the charmer you are”, Elena remarked coolly when Sue had gone. “And here I was, thinking that people like you wouldn’t even talk to Muggles.”

“Prejudiced, are we?” was Draco’s slightly scathing reply.

“Or perhaps I heard too many stories about your kind.”

“You’ve been consorting with ‘my kind’ for the last few months.”

Elena opened her mouth in protest, wanted to say that this was entirely different, that Severus wasn’t ‘his kind’, hadn’t been for a long time, but she saw that it only made for a futile debate. “What are you doing here?” she asked instead.

“He told me where I could find you”, Draco explained; no need to ask who ‘he’ was, “and to take you with me to practice.”

“Occlumency”, Elena said with a nod. “Take me where?”

Draco smiled slightly. “My place. You’ll see.”

Elena wondered what kind of a place that might be and her curiosity resurfaced. She asked Draco to wait and went to the cramped staff bathroom to clean herself up and change her clothes. Then she took the young wizard out onto the street and found an inconspicuous place to Disapparate. He took her hand with an ironic quirk around his mouth that reminded Elena that they would have nothing to do with each other if it wasn’t for Severus Snape, wouldn’t even bother to speak to each other politely but for him. That man held a peculiar power over them both, and when Draco and Elena looked at each other, they saw it on each other’s faces and it made them grin a little ruefully.

* * *

 

At about the same time in Diagon Alley, a heated discussion was going on in the back rooms of ‘Cleary’s Clearest Potions’. Sitting at the kitchen table, Janie Cleary was confronting her husband with a few simple but disagreeable truths. It didn’t come easy to her, but she did the best she could. After all, she and Castor had promised each other that there must never be a lie between them – in their eyes, this was the very foundation of a successful marriage – and that truths must always be spoken out, because silent assent was as much a lie as a faked one.

“It isn’t working out, Castor”, she said, her voice slightly trembling as she knew that this was the last thing he wanted to hear, “not in this way!”

“Show me another”, he demanded in a hoarse voice. There we deep rings under his eyes and his shirt was spotty from spilt-over potions, “it just takes time …”

“Yeah, but by the pace you’re going right now, you don’t have much time left before you’ll have a nervous breakdown!” Janie implored him with her eyes. “Look at you. You appear ten years older than you are and I haven’t seen you laugh in ages …”

“Well, sorry if I have things on my mind!” Castor Cleary spat out testily.

Janie inhaled deeply. “That’s exactly it, love. You have things on your mind all the time, and there’s nothing left anymore. For me, for your friends and for …” Gently, she touched the soft swelling of her belly. Instantly, Castor’s face softened and Janie took new courage. “I understand that you want to make this shop work. It’s your dream. But, honey, there’s a point when you have to cut losses …”

“That point’s still far off!” Castor said firmly. “I’m not giving up just yet!”

“Castor, you’re down there with your cauldrons day and night! You hardly sleep, you have no other topic of conversation than the shop, you’re changing …”

“No one said that it was going to be easy! I never expected it to, though you obviously did!”

“No, I didn’t!” An angry line appeared on Janie’s forehead as she hit the table top with a flat hand. “I was very much aware that establishing a shop on Diagon Alley would be hard work. But this has gone way beyond, Castor, and it’s taking its toll. Just think of Madam Landry’s Cleansing Potion …”

Castor snorted, but the sound was a complicated mix between frustration and mirth. “Well, the old gal _did_ get her colon properly cleansed, didn’t she? Perhaps a little more thoroughly than she expected, but …”

Janie supressed a grin and set her face in a determined scowl. “She could have become seriously ill. There might even have been permanent damage, you were just lucky. Next time, however …”

“You absolutely have to paint the devil on the wall, don’t you?”

“I’m telling you that you have to sleep! Get a rest every now and then! Or such mistakes are going to happen all the time, and next time might be serious …”

“Bell”, Castor interrupted, raising his head and looking startled.

“What??”

“Shop bell. There’s a customer.” He made to get up, but Janie pressed a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t. I’ll go.”

She jumped up and left the kitchen in the direction of the sales rooms. However, she came back after a few seconds, eyes wide.

“What is it?” Castor asked curiously.

“You’re not going to believe who’s here”, Janie whispered.

“Who?” he half got up from his chair.

Janie was suddenly very flustered and her words came out in a frantic rush. “You have to take this, Castor, I can’t! You know how it was at Hogwarts, he always made me stutter with this glare of his, I’m only going to mess it up …”

Now Castor’s eyes widened and he pushed past her towards the shop. In the middle of it, perusing the shelves with an expression of lazy interest, stood a thin, black-clad figure, turning sharply at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Castor Cleary swallowed, then found his sales voice. “Professor Snape”, he said with faked confidence, “what an honour to have you here.”

Severus Snape turned and looked the shop owner up and down. “Mr Cleary”, he silkily acknowledged his presence.

Castor cast a quick look over his shoulder and saw Janie hiding behind the curtain that parted the shop from the private quarters beyond. He could feel her apprehension and it infected him. “What can I do for you?” he asked as evenly as he managed.

Snape didn’t reply for a moment. He had a very shrewd look in his black eyes as he continued to survey Castor, no doubt making assumptions and stowing them away in his mind. Then he took a few steps forward, pulling something out of the pocket of his robes. “I was given this. And told that it was from your shop.”

Castor stared down on a knot of dried Gillyweed that looked exceptionally rough around the edges. He groaned inwardly. “I’m sorry about that, sir, this isn’t what we usually sell. I don’t know how …”

“Not your fault”, Snape interrupted, “the witch who gave this to me thought it was a good idea to send it by owl.”

Castor Cleary started to understand. “Oh, I see, that explains …”

“Yes. I had hoped that your sister would put some sense into her, but I realize now that it is going to take a while …”

“She’s been very helpful. Elena.” Castor swallowed, realizing that he sounded like a benevolent teacher praising a pupil in front of its parent. (It wasn’t even true; only this morning he had berated Cassie for taking her friend along all the time and paying her, too, when they were so skint.)

“I’m sure she means well”, Snape said with a sigh, “but she has a tendency to refrain from thinking. – Anyway”, he pointed to the Gillyweed, “apart from the fact that this has been impaired by owl, I find that it’s of surprisingly good quality. I’ve seen standards sadly declining in that regard.”

Castor nodded eagerly. “You want more of it?”

“If you please.”

“On my way!” A voice piped from behind the curtain.

“My wife”, Castor explained – unnecessarily – to Snape. Feeling a little glum, he observed the man – his erstwhile teacher whom he’d equally feared and admired – strolling around the shop, inspecting jars, cans and vials. It was obvious that Snape knew exactly what his presence meant to a young and struggling keeper of a potion’s shop because he moved with a nonchalant dignity. Castor watched the shop windows. As per usual, a lot of people were bustling about outside. Hopefully, some would look in, see what was going on and tell their friends and neighbours that Severus Snape was shopping at ‘Cleary’s Clearest Potions’. Such recommendation was better than any advertisement in _The Daily Prophet_ or _The Potioneer’s Post_.

Snape then started to ask questions on the potions on sale, on the ingredients and methods used. Castor replied curtly and to the point, however, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being a schoolboy in an exam situation. Every moment now Snape would deal out a grade, and that reminded Castor how next to impossible it had been to achieve an ‘Outstanding’ with this man. No matter how much you’d crammed your mind, he’d always find the gaps and various other flies in any kind of ointment.

Janie burst in, carrying ridiculous amounts of Gillyweed. She looked flushed, and when her eyes met Snape’s, she curtseyed involuntarily and murmured a breathless ‘Hello’ which the Hogwarts professor acknowledged with one of his characteristic curt nods. He gave the Gillyweed an ironic once-over. “That should be quite enough”, he remarked with a crooked smile.

“My sister knows a spot in France”, Castor intimated, “the Mediterranean, you know, it’s …” Janie’s sharp elbow nudged him in the side. “I mean … of course, I can’t …”

“I understand”, Snape purred, “trade secret. Your wife is right, you shouldn’t give such an advantage away.”

Janie’s colour deepened and Castor fidgeted.

“How are you doing, anyway?” Snape asked casually. “With the shop?”

Castor cleared his throat. “It’s … um … difficult.”

“ _Very_ difficult”, amended Janie with a hopeful look at Snape. However, the latter seemed unimpressed.

“I can only imagine”, he said silkily, “tight-knit bunch, the Potioneer’s Guild.”

“You can say that again!” Castor sputtered.

“That won’t be necessary since it’s such a well-known fact”, Snape said lazily. “Are you going to meetings, Mr Cleary?”

The glance Castor and his wife exchanged was almost unnoticeable, but bespoke their bewilderment at the situation; who would have thought that Severus Snape, of all people, might take an interest?

“If I can”, Castor replied hesitantly. “The shop’s a lot of work, you see, I cannot always make it.”

“I keep telling him he should go more often”, Janie chirped.

“Hmm”, was Snape’s noncommittal reaction. He was inspecting another shelf close to one of the windows. It held ‘pink potions’, mostly beauty products and was hence an unlikely choice of interest for him; Castor sensed that Snape wasn’t really looking at the items on display at all. And in fact, after a while the older wizard raised a thin white hand and waved to Castor impetuously, conveying his wish for a few private words. Janie got the hint, too, and stepped back while Castor cautiously joined Snape at the window.

“Sir?”

“Those guild meetings”, murmured Snape and looked over Castor’s shoulder to make sure that Janie couldn’t hear him, “I guess there’s some gossip?”

“Potioneers like to gossip”, Castor said with a shrug, then suddenly remembered who he was talking to. “Some of them, anyway …”

“I thought so.” Snape’s black eyes fixed a point in mid-air. “Heard any mention of Abelard Ainsworth lately?”

“ _Ainsworth_?!” Castor glared at the other man. “I thought he was in Azkaban?”

Snape frowned. “So you know even less than I do”, he concluded with a sigh. “No, Mr Cleary, Ainsworth is not in Azkaban. He was, for what he did – no doubt you know what it was – but the powers that were let him go about a year ago.”

Castor wanted to say ‘You know much more about the _powers that were_ than I do’, but bit his tongue just in time. “He was heavily into dark arts, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah”, Snape grinned crookedly. “He fancies himself a demiurge, that one. Likes to _create_.” A slight emphasis on the last word conveyed Snape’s disgust.

“I heard. He made homunculi and had them slave around his house. I hear he also made female ones for his personal … pleasure …”

“Which was the reason why he was locked up”, Snape confirmed. “Rightly so; there’s a reason why that kind of thing is illegal. A sore temptation for any potioneer, of course; they all want to have a personal Golem to do their dirty work.” He slightly shook his head in a ridiculing way.

“So why didn’t they lock Ainsworth up again after the victory?” Castor wanted to know.

“Because they couldn’t find him”, Snape said and there was an angry flash in his eyes. “There was too much emphasis on pursuing Death Eaters, which gave Ainsworth a good head start. Now it’s like trying to find that bloody needle in the proverbial haystack.”

“Are you trying to find him, sir?”

Snape nodded gravely.

“To put him back into jail?”

“No.” Snape carefully observed the reaction visible on Castor’s face, but he wasn’t prepared to say any more. “If you hear anything about Ainsworth – specifically where he might be found, or if you hear of people who might know where he is – would you inform me?”

Castor opened his mouth and closed it again. He thought quickly. “I might be able to help you, sir”, he said eventually, but with a pointed sly look. He knew that Snape wasn’t stupid, and as he had expected, the older wizard picked up what he was trying to say.

“I’d appreciate it”, Snape said, and his own sly look easily equalled Castor’s. “But now for the Gillyweed. Let’s have a look.”

And a look he had, a very thorough one in fact. He didn’t praise it, but Castor could see from the expression on Snape’s face that he was satisfied. With carefully probing fingers, he chose a few knots and had Castor pack them up. Then he handed him a list of stuff he needed ‘to replenish his stocks’. As he collected the desired items, Castor felt a happy quickening of his pulse. He knew very well that this was a straightforward transaction and that in exchange for spending money in his shop, Snape expected solid information. However, after doing a quick calculation in his head, the younger wizard realized that he would make more today than he had in the past three days, and it was all the motivation that he needed. Plus, out of the corners of his eyes he saw that a small crowd of people had gathered in front of the shop windows by now, curiously staring at the sinister customer who appeared to be spending a substantial amount of money on ‘Cleary’s Clearest Potions’.

“So you’re still at it? I hear you’re teaching DADA now.”

“I am”, Snape confirmed haughtily, “but I do stuff on my own time.”

“It’s like a bug”, Castor said conversationally, “making potions.

Snape replied with a wan smile which reminded Castor that the man hated idle babbling, and so he collected the rest of the wanted ingredients in silence. Snape surveyed all the items critically, then – with a wince – paid quite a hefty sum.

“Let me know if you’re satisfied”, Castor said after he had made his customer a neat package.

“I will”, replied Snape with a pointed look. “And you’ll let me know if you …”

“… hear anything. Of course.”

“I’d prefer active hearing to a passive one”, Snape instructed him, then glanced sideways at Janie, encompassing her with his demand.

“We’ll do what we can, Professor”, Castor promised solemnly, hurtled to the shop door and opened it for Snape. “Thank you for coming, sir, it was a pleasure to be of help.”

Another vague smile. “Let’s see who’s helping who. – A good day to you, Mr Cleary”, and with a nod over his shoulder, “Madam Cleary …”

And he left the shop at a rapid pace, not looking back and without so much as a glance at the curious spectators outside. He walked a small distance down Diagon Alley and suddenly, with a sharp crack, vanished from view.

Yet, Castor stared at the spot for a while, breathing. Janie came to his side. “Can we agree that you’ve earned yourself a few hours of solid sleep now?” she murmured gently.

Castor smiled at her, then kissed her on the forehead. “You know what? That’s exactly what I will do.”

* * *

 

After Apparating near Hogsmeade, Severus Snape enjoyed the brisk walk to Hogwarts in the damp winter air. His sense of time told him that he hadn’t long before the next DADA session with fifth-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, and an interesting lesson it would be as he intended to speak about Dementors. It usually had students sit on the edge of their seats which was a nice change from the usual disinterest and incomprehension they displayed. Also, he was quite pleased about the stuff he’d bought as his keen eye had told him at once that Cleary’s products were way above average. He had, at first, resented Elena for sending him the Gillyweed. Not so much because she had done it by owl without properly packing the stuff, although of course it had been an unnecessary waste; rather, he had frowned at the implied demand that he go and check out her new friends’ shop. As a rule, Severus Snape didn’t like people telling him what to do, he didn’t even like them to suggest to him what he _might_ want to do. In the end, however, he might have found a little treasure on Diagon Alley, as well as a potential source of information. Plus, the thought that Elena would most certainly hear about his shopping spree and be pleased about it (and hence sweet and affectionate) might serve as an advantage, considering the new blow he had prepared for her …

However, he didn’t want to think about this now and rather turned his mind to Abelard Ainsworth. The thought of that notorious and brilliant potioneer had come to him spontaneously one night after he had, once again, taken a look at the samples of satyr skin and the hair from the hellhounds. He was positive by now that the offending creatures he’d lately encountered were manufactured, created by obscure alchemistic processes. He was also very much aware that not any potioneer could do it – making living creatures involved complex methods, and only a small number of witches and wizards were able to fathom those. It had thus made sense to Snape to focus on known suspects, and since Ainsworth had been conspicuously absent for months, considering him was obvious. However, he would be hard to find, and in his mind Snape went through all the options he had while climbing up the slope to the castle. ‘Patience’, he told himself, ‘anyone can be found. It only needs patience and determination …’

Speaking of patience … as he had frequently done in the past days, he wondered what might come off Lupin’s plan to get Elena into the Academy. As far as he knew, she hadn’t got any reply. Severus didn’t quite know whether to be glad or disappointed about this. As much as he wanted to protect Elena, he also wanted to solve the riddles that had presented themselves lately, and he was getting restless.

Thinking about protecting Elena made him remember his short conversation with Draco the day before. Snape glanced at the Hogwarts clock tower. It was half past four o’clock, and if everything had gone as planned, Draco would be with her now. Practicing Occlumency, ostensibly, but really preparing the ground for something else.

When imaging her reaction, Snape smiled tersely to himself. Poor Draco. He would have to take the brunt of her outrage. By the time she would come to him about it, her anger would already have cooled down a bit, making her open to reasonable argument. Which was, in short, exactly the reason why Severus had acted as he did; at the same time, of course, he knew that he was being a bit of a cad. However, he didn’t mind all that much.

* * *

 

When Elena entered the flat, she couldn’t help whistling. Draco turned around to her with a genuinely pleased smile and made a sweeping gesture.

“Swell, isn’t it?”

“Nice! I mean … really! I hadn’t expected this.”

“What _did_ you expect?”

“I don’t know”, Elena shrugged, “skeletons in the corners? Giant cobwebs? Ghosts?”

“I’ve been thinking about getting a ghost”, Draco explained in all seriousness. “It’s a little sad not to have one; a proper ghost makes a home, don’t you think? However, I’ve been thinking that it might scare the Muggle girls.”

Elena bit her lip. Draco was talking like someone who wanted a cat, but didn’t get one because his girlfriend was allergic to feline hair. In this very moment, she found the young wizard strangely endearing. “That’s very considerate of you”, she said kindly.

“One has to adapt”, Draco said philosophically, “I’ve learned that. – Make yourself at home, will you?”

“Hey, is that a _Barcelona_ chair??” With a delighted sigh, Elena fell into a very stylish-looking leather armchair. It was cosy, too.

“Don’t know. My neighbour helped me get it.”

“Your Muggle neighbour? You’re consorting with _Muggles_?” Elena was giggling with glee now.

Draco sat down opposite of her. “I guess I do … I mean, things are changing so fast these days …” He frowned and looked genuinely confused. “It’s like my values are constantly getting blown over …”

Elena leant forward and looked at him attentively. “I hate principles”, she intimated to him, “I mean, everybody always tells you that you’ve got to have principles, but I think that they are nothing more than a grossly generalized approach to what should be decided on a case-to-case basis.”

Draco thought about this and a range of moods crossed his face. Then he jolted himself out of it and asked Elena whether she wanted anything. She didn’t, and so they went into practicing right away.

It was very different from doing Occlumency with Severus. If truth be told, practicing with Draco was more interesting because she stood a better chance against him. While Snape’s intrusions into her mind were as smooth and flexible as a winding snake, Draco’s were more like a stubborn lance that could be felt right away and – if treated correctly – snapped in half. At first, Elena wasn’t too comfortable. Practicing Occlumency with someone always meant that they got the occasional peek into your psychological landscape. However, whatever Draco saw, he never commented on it; in fact, he didn’t even appear to set too much by it. Elena realized that the well-practiced Occlumens was used to the occasional stupidity of what people carried around ‘inside’ and couldn’t be bothered to even ridicule such banality. She began to understand how Occlumency had the power to make you wise – because it helped you to understand people’s mental patterns, their egotisms, their hang-ups – but it also made you very resigned, to the point of disillusionment.

They practiced for about two hours until Elena claimed mental exhaustion.

“This was good, though”, she said – keeping in mind that she wanted to be kind to Draco – “I have a feeling that I’m slowly getting the hang of it.”

“You’re very good at blocking”, Draco agreed, “I like how you put a kind of signal noise over your thoughts, like with that song …”

“I have music on my mind all the time”, she explained, a little proud of herself, “so I thought I might as well use it.”

“Yes, but you keep forgetting to cover up the deeper thoughts.”

“Are you trying to tell me that I’m superficial?” Her grin was good-natured.

“We all are”, said Draco, dead-serious now. “We protect the obvious and forget what we haven’t looked at for a while. It’s difficult to cover all the fronts. However, I have a few tricks my aunt Bella taught me …”

And he went on to explain, while Elena listened with rapt attention. From what she had heard, his ‘aunt Bella’ had been a formidable bitch; but no doubt she’d known a thing or two about Occlumency. While they were talking, the sky outside of the windows slowly became darker until the spacious sitting room was so gloomy that Draco lighted a couple of candles with a moody wave of his wand. The soft glow smoothened the atmosphere, made it almost intimate, and their voices dropped to whispers. It was the kind of mood that allowed confessions and Elena found it a little disturbing to be in this situation with a guy she didn’t find all that congenial. But, if she was honest with herself, he hadn’t really bothered her the last few hours.

“Would you like to eat?” Draco asked after a fashion. “We could … order pizza. That’s what you Muggles do, don’t you? – Sorry, I mean _Muggle_ - _borns_ …”

“You can call me a Muggle, I don’t find it offensive”, Elena said with a slight sneer, “and I prefer sushi. – Not now, though.”

“Fine.” Draco leant back against the rest of the sofa and stared at the ceiling for a few seconds. When he looked at Elena again, his eyes were dancing. “So”, he started with visible pleasure, “how long have you been in love with the Professor?”

Elena stared at him. “How do you …?”

“Please! – Didn’t I just tell you that you have to improve your cover for your deeper thoughts?”

She blushed.

Draco, however, grinned. “Occlumency sucks in that way. You can’t practice it without giving up stuff.” To Elena’s surprise, it didn’t sound in the least condescending. “Does _he_ know?”

For a few moments, Elena didn’t react, but then she nodded.

“Saw it, I suppose”, Draco guessed.

“No. I told him.”

There was a flash in the grey eyes conveying wonder and amusement. “You did? That’s …” He issued a noise between a scoff and a chuckle. “What did he say??”

“Not much. – Didn’t bite my head off, either.”

“Did you … I mean, did something … happen …?”

However, Elena gave him a cold gaze that told Draco that her Occlumentic shields were up. It was an answer of sorts, one that spelt ‘None of your bloody business’. He didn’t pursue it any further because he already knew what he wanted to know and bit down hard on a grin.

For a moment, there was silence.

“How long have you known him?” Elena asked after a while.

“Since I was a little kid”, Draco replied. “He was friends with my dad and came by Malfoy Manor every now and then.”

Elena smiled a little ruefully. “Were you afraid of him? I mean, little kids probably are …”

“No, I wasn’t. Actually, I always thought he was cool.”

“Really?” She couldn’t help smiling, because she had inwardly prepared herself for another episode of ‘Snape the bully’; however, she now began to realize that Draco had a completely different image of the man.

“To me, he was a kind of godfather”, Draco went on to explain, “since my real godfather – my uncle Rodolphus – was in Azkaban. Still is.” He cast an uncertain side glance at Elena, but she showed no reaction. “Anyway, he taught me a few tricks. And he’d always laugh when I made my peas dance at dinner table.”

“What kind of tricks did he teach you?”

“Levitating house elves, for example”, Draco said roguishly.

“Gosh, the poor things …”

“Or lifting girl’s skirts with a jerk of my little finger …”

“He taught you _that_??” Elena shrieked with pleasure. It was a whole new aspect of Snape.

“He was much younger then”, Draco said reasonably. “Of course, he was always a serious person. Not so much, though, when he was with us at the Manor. I guess he felt safe there, relaxed.”

“Everyone else is always telling me what a bully he used to be …”

“He can be a bully”, Draco confirmed. “He doesn’t suffer fools easily, you see.”

“You like him.”

“Yes. He did a lot for me and my family.”

Again, silence ensued and Draco appeared to be deep in thought. When he finally spoke, Elena got the distinct feeling that he wanted to say much more than his words conveyed. “I think it’s difficult for him to feel affection for most people. But if he does, he will do anything to protect them.”

“I know.” She eyed Draco curiously.

“He’d do anything to protect _you_ ”, the wizard said and it sounded meaningful.

“What are you saying?”

Draco sat up abruptly. His cool grey eyes sought hers and Elena knew instantly that he was about to say something important. “I spoke to him yesterday. Stopped by at Hogwarts.”

“Yes?”

“He had an idea. I didn’t like it much at first, but thinking about it I have to admit that it’s quite … good.”

She frowned, sensing that she wouldn’t like what was coming. “Go on.”

“Snape told me about you going to spy in that academy.”

“If I get accepted. Doesn’t look like it right now.”

“If you get accepted, however, it might be better if you didn’t go into it all by yourself.”

Elena rolled her eyes. “ _That_ again! He doesn’t trust me to manage on my own!”

“He trusts you alright. – However, wouldn’t you feel better if you had someone who was in it with you?”

“Maybe. But how?” Her eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute, did he suggest that you should come with me?”

Very slowly and with his eyes still on her face, Draco nodded.

“Come on, that’s ridiculous!” Elena flared. “You’re a full-blown wizard! What reason would you have to become a student at the academy?”

“That’s not the approach Snape suggested. – You see, those Crowley people, they like to cosy up to pure-bloods. If I managed to get them interested in me – through _you_ – they might want to further the connection to my family. And that might give me an ‘in’.”

“What do you mean, _through me_?”

“If I were, let’s say, a _very_ close friend of yours …”

Elena stared at him. She was beginning to see where he was headed, and the scheme behind it started to unravel. “He wants you to play …”, she swallowed, “… my _boyfriend_??”

Her words sounded so incredulous that Draco started to fidget in his spot. “At first I, too, thought that it was daft. However, if you think about it … If we could make the people at the academy believe that we were close … and if I could convince my parents to show some … _benevolence_ towards the academy … fund it, perhaps …”

For a few moments, Elena was quite speechless. She felt anger swelling in her guts because Severus had sent Draco to inform her on his scheme instead of telling her himself. At the same time, she couldn’t help realizing that it was a brilliant plan. It would give her added protection. It would involve Draco in the Order of the Phoenix, and she knew well how much Severus wanted this. And what was more, she and Draco faking a relationship would provide sufficient reason for an alleged discord between her and Snape. – However, seeing the brilliance of the idea didn’t make her like it any better.

“It’s preposterous!” she cried. “You’re much younger than I am! I don’t go for puppies!”

“Well, you’re not exactly my type, either!” Draco looked a bit miffed. “It’s just for show! – And the fact is that older women like me. It happens all the time.”

Elena remembered his flirtation with Sue. Yes, he had something of the toy boy about him. Older women might turn to him to make them feel good about themselves.

“You don’t have to be afraid that I’m going to grab you or anything”, Draco continued with a sneer around his mouth. “It’s just about … you know … getting seen in public, acting confidentially, maybe holding hands every now and then, but that’d be it; witches and wizards are not so demonstrative in that way.”

Yet, she was mystified. “I can’t believe Severus suggested this!”

“I think it’s remarkable. So get over it. – And just for the record, it’s not an ideal situation for me, either. There’s a girl, you know … I mustn’t even imagine what she’ll be thinking …”

Elena remembered the black-curled girl she had seen in his mind that other day at Snape’s. Looking at Draco now, she could detect his discomfort, and in spite of herself she felt for him. “You must tell her the truth. Tell her in confidence that it’s just a fake, whatever she might hear. If she’s fond of you, she’ll understand and she’ll appreciate your honesty …” She stopped herself. What was she doing? She was talking as if the plan had already been put into action, as if she had accepted it …

“You think?” Draco said hopefully.

“Yes, I’m certain. – _If_ we were to do this, of course …”

“I’d like to”, said Draco. “Not because of _that_ … but … to help. To give back.”

She felt herself softening inside. Only now did she fully understand how loyal Draco was to Severus, that he would probably do anything and the young wizard rose in her estimation by several inches. “What will your parents say if you go about with a Muggle-born?” she asked ironically.

“I’d _love_ to see the look on my father’s face!” Draco replied with unexpected passion. “Maybe it’ll jolt him out of his apathy. – And my mom’s cool. She can be trusted.”

So that was that. With a sigh of frustration, Elena saw even now that there would probably be no way out of it. Severus’ idea was simply too good, one stone killing a whole flock of birds. True, it rankled; however, that was just petty pride and resentment of the fact that Snape used her like a figurine in a game of chess. But probably, that was what clandestine spy work was all about. However, she’d have words with him, that much was certain.

“I’ll think about it”, she said, struggling for dignity. “As things look now, it won’t be necessary anyway. I guess Magrathea Crowley has not forgiven me for brushing her off.”

Draco gave her a funny little look. It was obvious to her that he had a different take on that. However, he didn’t elaborate.

“You’re right”, he said, “let’s cross the bridge when we get there …”

* * *

 

As it was, Elena came to the bridge much sooner than she had expected or would have wanted. When she arrived at home, her aunt Anna came out of the sitting room, looking flustered and informing her that a ‘strange bird’ had been sitting on her bedroom-window sill for the past two hours. Of course, the ‘strange bird’ was an owl, and it carried a formal-looking parchment with a grand sigil sporting the letters AMC. As soon as she saw it, Elena felt her stomach plunge. She took the parchment, broke the seal and read.

 

_Dear Ms Horwath,_

_Thank you very much for your application and the interest you have shown in the Crowley Academy. We would be pleased to consider you for our teaching institution, and kindly ask you to prepare yourself for an assessment on Thursday, next week. The exact time and location of the assessment will be communicated to you shortly before the event._

_We would like to point out that the assessment is a mandatory procedure for all students seeking admission to the Crowley Academy. It serves to evaluate your magical propensities and will form a basis for the focal points of your education. Your admission to the academy will depend on the result of the assessment, which is why it can by no means be circumvented or postponed, regardless of any magical certificates you may be able to provide._

_Trusting that these terms will be acceptable to you and looking forward to meeting you in person, we remain_

_Respectfully,_

_(illegible squiggle)_

 

Elena stared at the parchment for two full minutes. She had to jolt herself into action, ignore the ill feeling in her guts. She found a piece of paper, scribbled a short note and wrapped the parchment up in it. She used her own owl – that had already gone to sleep and protested a little when she got it out of its cage – to send it on its way to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Then she sat down on the edge of her bed, waited. Her fingers were shaking. Suddenly, she didn’t feel too confident about all this anymore. She had been tired upon her arrival at home, but now she felt wide awake. Going to bed was out of the question. She would stay up and wait for his reply …

 

 


	21. The Assessment

**The Assessment**

 

The house was as crooked and lopsided as only a wizarding house could be. It was located in a narrow cobbled road verging off Diagon Alley, with the infamous Knockturn Alley right around the corner, wedged in between two other buildings of a similar kind, and on one of the wooden balconies that looked as if they might come down any moment, a witch with scraggly grey hair and a nose that rivalled Severus Snape’s peered down at Elena with a look of blatant disgust.

“Is this number sixty-six?” Elena called up to her uncertainly as it was hard to believe that this obviously run-down house could be the place where an institution as conscious of appearances as the Crowley Academy obviously was (judging from the brochures, anyway, and from the Crowley lifestyle) carried out its assessments. She had checked the address – sent to her only the day before along with the time at which she was to present herself – numerous times and was actually quite certain that she’d got it right. Carcass Lane was the name of this road, which sounded horrible but had really something to do with a slaughterhouse that had had its quarters here over a century ago (a detail Cassie had supplied her with). Number sixty-six was peculiar because Elena wasn’t sure whether the narrow road even held that many houses, but she knew by now that house numbering in the wizarding world didn’t always follow rational rules; in fact, most buildings didn’t even sport a number.

“Madam?” she tried again as the big-nosed witch on the balcony hadn’t replied. “Do you hear me? Is this number sixty-six?”

The woman’s mouth worked, formed a spout. The next moment, a spray of spit and mucus came down and Elena was only just able to dodge the projectile. “What the …!?!”

“Piss off, bloody Mudblood!” the old banshee screeched and dove out of sight before Elena could whip out her wand. However, a cackling laughter could be heard.

“Choke on your venom, bitch!” Elena ranted. While being called ‘Mudblood’ was something that happened every now and then, she was no longer prepared to just swallow it. However, it made her feel even more insecure. Did she really look like a Muggle so much? Especially today she had taken extra care with her clothes – no denims, no synthetics – because she had thought long and hard about the kind of image she wanted to convey to the Crowley Academy. And yet all it took was a bitchy witch with cataracts to tell exactly what she was!

Elena sighed dejectedly and then decided that the only way to find out whether she was in the right place was to knock, which she did, forcing herself not to be timid. It took an awfully long time before anyone responded, and she was just about to knock again when the door was drawn open.

She knew at once that the face was familiar. Watery eyes, light-brown hair tied back in a ponytail and a slightly beaky nose. Yet, it took her a few seconds to place it. “Mr Periwinkle …”

Periwinkle the Younger, to be precise.

“Ms Horwath. I’m pleased you remember me.”

Something about him had changed. The last time Elena had seen him – ‘His name’s Waldemar’, she recalled now – he’d been nervous, with beads of sweat on his forehead, and obviously daunted by the presence of Periwinkle the Elder. Now, however, he exuded the self-assured benevolence of a host. He stepped back gallantly. “Please come in.”

Elena stepped over the threshold into a very narrow and cramped hallway that smelt of age-old dust and cat piss. At first she thought that small gauze curtains hung from the ceiling, but they were really gigantic cobwebs with myriads of flies neatly wrapped up in them. – Yes, she was still a Muggle. Walking into a hallway such as this made her body hair stand on edge. She wasn’t tidy, far from it, but this … well, it was much, much worse than even Severus’ house had been before the arrival of Gilly, the house-elf.

“Is this … an outpost of the Academy?” she asked incredulously.

Waldemar Periwinkle’s cheeks coloured. For a moment, he looked like his old nervous self. “I’m very sorry about this. – You’re right, this house is a bad representative of the Academy. We use differing locations to carry out our assessments, and we can’t always choose.”

Elena took careful note of the ‘we’. The young Periwinkle appeared to consider himself an integral part of the Academy, and Elena wondered what his father’s – grandfather’s? anyway, Ansgard Periwinkle’s – take was on that. “Why don’t you do them at your academy?” she asked.

Waldemar Periwinkle gave her a twitchy smile .”We like to be private”, he said, then led the way through the hallway. “I’m afraid, Ms Horwath, you will have to wait a little while. We had a small … delay and are still getting ready upstairs. – Will you be so kind and take a seat in here?”

He was trying to be smooth and charming, Elena noted, maybe a little too much. With a gesture too flamboyant to fit the location (or the occasion, for that matter), he opened a door at the end way of the hallway, leading into a dusty small sitting room that held no more than a faded pink chintz sofa, a rickety chair for a coffee table and a dead fireplace. There were cracks all over the ceiling and a cold draught came through cracks in the windows that were as dirty as those of the Hog’s Head. Elena entered the room hesitantly. A shiver of disgust went down her spine.

“Would you like anything while you’re waiting? Tea, perhaps?”

“No”, she said, shaking her head ferociously and only just able to keep herself from saying ‘In this dump, are you kidding?’ Gingerly, she sat down on the edge of the chintz sofa.

“We’ll make it quick”, Waldemar Periwinkle assured her, suddenly fidgeting. “Thank you for your patience.”

A few seconds later, Elena was alone in the cramped sitting room, working hard to breathe evenly. It was difficult because she was nervous, more so than she had expected. She forced herself to remember Severus’ words to her, spoken only a week ago. _“You have to own it; believe it. You’re a witch in sore need of education, nothing more. Focus on the parts of your story that are true!”_ In theory, this was all very well. However, sitting here in this depressingly dirty place, completely out of her comfort zone, it was difficult to take courage in theory. What was more, she didn’t know what was coming, what form the assessment would take and whether she would be able to deal with it. Granted, in the past week she had practiced Occlumency almost every day, mostly with Draco who’d come by faithfully. Certainly she was as well prepared as she could be, but would it help her?

She sighed, wanted to lean back, but the sofa wasn’t very inviting. From overhead, voices and footsteps could be heard. Chairs were drawn over the floor with a screeching sound. Elena began to ask herself whether all this was a scheme to unsettle her and put her at a disadvantage. The more she thought about it, the more likely it appeared. She had to occupy her mind, not think about what might be coming or what could happen. She had to think positive thoughts. And so she turned to her last meeting with Severus …

 

* * *

 

It had taken place in Komarek’s Mercedes, a few hours after she’d got the invitation to the assessment. Elena had gone there immediately after receiving a very late owl and had renewed the Obscuring and Repelling charms on the car to ensure a private conversation in its dimly lit interior. Snape had arrived about ten minutes later, smelling of snow and with melting flakes on his shoulders that told Elena that winter had come back to Scotland.

“So it’s on”, he’d said instead of a ‘Hello’, slipping into the passenger seat beside her.

“Yeah, it’s on”, she’d murmured, not knowing what else to say.

He’d scrutinized her. “Second thoughts?”, but Elena had waved it away.

“You could still say no”, Snape suggested with unusual gentleness.

“No, I couldn’t. Not now. It’d be chickening out.” She gave him a testy side-glance. “Plus, you’ve made sure that I might have a bodyguard. – Sorry, bodyguard-slash- _boyfriend_.”

He gave her a dry grin. “Thought that you wouldn’t like that much.”

“Oh, I’m fine”, she claimed, although she looked miffed, “ _you_ won’t like it!”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes, and I’ll tell you why: people will think that Draco cuckolded you!”

A strange glimmer in his eyes told her that he hadn’t thought of that. “I don’t care what people say”, he growled eventually.

“Oh yes, you do! I know hardly anyone who is so touchy about being ridiculed!” Even in the dim light of the car her eyes looked ablaze.

Snape did his utmost to set a stony face and shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

Again, she glanced at him and tried to read what he was thinking or feeling – did ‘I’ve had worse’ mean ‘I don’t care’? – but of course it was futile. “I’m a little worried about the assessment, though”, she confessed in a small voice.

“So am I”, he replied.

“Assess my _magical propensities_ , what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I have no idea”, he admitted. “Such procedures _do_ exist, of course. We have one at Hogwarts, the Sorting Hat. However, it doesn’t so much assess the layout of magical talent, but rather the temperament of each individual student.”

“And it only sorts into four categories, doesn’t it, the four Houses. I don’t think that this is what the assessment is about.”

“Probably not.”

“I mean, it sounds reasonable in a way that they would want to know where to start teaching me, where my strengths and weaknesses are …”

“I don’t object to that”, Snape broke in, “I am worried about something else.”

“Yeah?”

“Your prescience.”

Elena looked at him curiously, asking him to elaborate.

“I wouldn’t want people like that to know about this very specific talent of yours. – Seers are rare, as you know, and hence they are also precious. And frequently abused. Just think of the fate of most seers that you have ever heard of. Cassandra of Troy. Morgan le Fey. Or the Roman Sybils that were forced to sit on stools all day in the midst of mind-numbing fumes supposed to suppress their conscious thought and make their visions more vivid, hardly given any food and no comfort at all. Most Sybils were old women by the time they were forty, exhausted and on the verge of madness …”

“I’m not going to be a Sybil”, Elena said reasonably. “Those times are over.”

But he scoffed. “As per usual, you’re underestimating this. Anyone with a desire for power who can get their hands on a true seer will not rest until they do so, by one scheme or another. A person who is able to predict the future represents an immense advantage to anyone seeking power. I need not explain why, just think about it. – Hence, I fear that if the Academy finds out about your divinatory talent, they will do everything to not only develop and school it, but also to _make use_ of it.”

“They can’t do that without my permission!”

“They might not ask”, Severus held against.

She swallowed and looked glum. What he’d said made perfect sense in a perverted way. “What should I do?”

“Practice Occlumency. Any chance you get. And hope you can shield your prescience so they don’t find out about it.” He shrugged once more to signal that there wasn’t much else that she could do.

“I did practice today”, she piped up like a good girl, but that was only because she felt very insecure all of a sudden, “with Draco.”

“Good. Give it another go tomorrow. And the day after that. And …”

“I get it.”

They were silent then, staring out of the windshield into a dark night where the swings, slides and climbing frames of the nearby playground looked like the meagre skeletons of out-worldly beings. It was Snape who spoke first. “What’s happening there, anyway? Have you had any visions lately?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing since the Leshnikov thing. It’s a little bit as if I’ve lost that connection.”

Snape taxed her thoughtfully. “Probably a good sign”, he murmured.

“Why do you think so?”

“Last time, your visions became more forceful the closer danger came, didn’t they? The fact that you don’t have any now probably means that there is no immediate reason for concern.”

That, at least, cheered her up a bit. “I wish I could control it better”, she sighed.

“Yes. That’s mostly my fault. I should have found you a Divination instructor a long time ago, to teach you how to handle it and give you the possibility of deciding what you’d want to do with it. – Problem is, I only know one – like I said, seers are rare – but she’s a bundle of nerves and I’d hate her teaching you …” He broke off and shook his head with determination.

“Tell me how to be a spy then”, she demanded, “you know, tricks of the trade and all that.”

The expression on his face changed from thoughtful to self-important. And so, in the middle of the night and sitting in a vintage Mercedes, Severus Snape began to instruct her on spy work. He started with a few basic rules, specifically how to give herself a back story and believe it, too. Most of it was really common sense; nonetheless she found it both informative and thrilling (in more ways than one) to listen to his silky voice telling her to be ever observant and get people to give her the information that she wanted.

“You have to remember”, he explained, “that what people like best is talking about themselves. Believe me, it’s like an addiction: given the opportunity, they won’t let go. It’s the best way to get them to let down their guard and give you what you want to know. By diverting their attention to themselves, you will also make sure that they don’t wonder about you too much. And by feigning interest in their sorry lives, you’ll make sure they trust you.”

“Mollycoddle them, in other words.”

“Yes, but careful! Not everybody’s open to that. Some people thrive on attention, others on well-dosed resistance. But since you’re so proud of your intuition, you will surely know the difference.”

She thought about it. “Who taught _you_ to be a spy, anyway?”

“I taught myself. I guess you could say I’m a natural.” He did sound arrogant when he said it like this, but Elena knew that he didn’t mean it that way. “Dumbledore helped with a few tricks, though”, he added a little hastily.

“Why do you think you’re so good at it?”

“Lots of sneaking around when I was a kid”, he responded sourly.

The reference to his childhood reminded her of Eileen Prince, which gave her a reason to change the subject. “Your mother still around?”

“Yes”, he said gloomily, “as was to be expected.”

“Do you mind?”

“Yes, I do. But then, I really live at Hogwarts, so I can stay out of her way. – Plus, she did a really good job with _this_.” He pointed to his neck. Only now did Elena notice the crisp clean bandages that, unlike before, had not a spot of blood or pus on them. “You can say what you want about her, but whenever she concocts something, the effect is … _thorough_.”

Elena understood the allusion and bit her lip. Severus, in turn, gave her a crooked grin. It was a little bit as if they shared a running gag.

They remained seated in the car for a while longer, talking lazily about this and that; questions were asked, advice given, but it was really nothing that desperately needed to be discussed. Actually, the reason why they stayed was not a conscious one. Had they made any effort to discover it, they would have found that it was their bodies that demanded to stay close to each other and that their nether selves weren’t as shy as their rational ones. As it was, they simply felt a reluctance to get moving, leave the comfort of the leather seats and venture out into the cold; hence, they put it off.

Eventually, however, Elena looked at the clock on the car’s dashboard. It showed almost 2 a.m.

“Gee, that late?” She looked at Severus with a gentle look of pity. “When do you have to get up?”

“Six o’clock.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t realize …”

He held up his hand. “Don’t apologize to an insomniac for not letting him sleep. This was more important. But you’ll have to continue with Draco now.”

She grinned crookedly. “My new boyfriend …”

He scowled at first, but then saw her expression develop into a genuine smile. “I’d thought you’d be mad”, he remarked.

She tilted her head. “And I thought you wouldn’t care about that.”

Feeling caught, he stared out of the windshield again. “First and foremost, I’m thinking about your safety.”

“I know. – And just for the record, I _was_ mad. Because you didn’t tell me personally.”

“What, you think I was _afraid_ of telling you??” He glared at her challengingly.

“God forbid, the great Severus Snape – afraid??” The irony in her words was heavy, but before he could react with outrage she gave him her most radiant smile which – as always – stunted him a little. It also made him think of something else.

“It’s a good thing to have Draco as an ally”, he assured her. “It’s not only that he’s capable, he also comes from a well-connected family. That might help us in things to come. It’s important to have allies, especially as a spy.”

She said nothing, but continued to smile, her eyes seeking his. The atmosphere changed, became laden with meaning; there was an underlying tension that made Severus struggle for words that wouldn’t come, and so he latched on to the next best thing. “Speaking of the Malfoys …”, he started, then clamped his mouth shut.

“Yes?” Elena sensed something, the need to coax the words out of him, and also she had a feeling that what he was going to say would be significant. Again, she smiled warmly to encourage him, thinking that sometimes getting him to talk was like coaxing a frightened kitten out from under the sofa.

“There’s … I’ve received an owl.”

“Really?” She made it sound as if it was the most extraordinary thing.

“From Draco’s mother. An invitation to dinner.” He didn’t go on and Elena felt that it had been hard enough for him to get these words out.

“Well, that’s nice, isn’t it?” she said lightly. “Aren’t those people your friends?”

“They used to be. Lucius … well, I guess he still resents what he perceives as my betrayal of him.”

“Let him sulk, then”, Elena counselled. “At least his wife and son are on your side, so he might come around eventually.”

He didn’t say anything, just stared ahead.

“You’re going to go, aren’t you?” Elena asked, uncertain about what was going on inside his head. “Or are you uncomfortable about it?”

“No. I’m going to go”, he said very quietly. His eyes were on the dashboard now. Elena almost didn’t catch it when he murmured, “Would _you_?”

It took her a few seconds to understand what he was proposing. “Would I what? Come with you?”

He continued to stare ahead, then turned his head slightly towards her – without looking into her eyes – and nodded.

“Sure I would! I’d love to!” Her affirmation came so quickly and enthusiastically it made Snape look up in astonishment which, in turn, made her laugh. “Come on, that can’t be such a surprise!”

He knew what she was alluding to, that it was an encrypted way of saying ‘I’d go anywhere with you’, but still that simple affirmation of affection swayed him; he wasn’t used to it; he always suspected ridicule; but at the same time, he couldn’t believe anymore that she was making a fool of him, not after all that had happened. Yet, he was a little disconcerted when he felt a smile come to his lips. “Well then. Fine.”

Elena laughed again, but he saw immediately that it was a happy laugh. She was delighted at the prospect. He had hoped it, but was still surprised that asking a woman to go out on a dinner date with him – for the first time in his life, in fact – had been so easy. Yet, he broke off the meeting quite quickly after that, quoting his Hogwarts duties and that only a few hours of sleep remained (the insomniac detail suddenly seemed forgotten). Also, he promised that he would get in touch about the dinner, admonished her that the dress-code would be formal as they were going to visit a very grand wizarding home. Elena realized quickly that he was only talking to overcome his embarrassment and waved it away.

“Don’t worry, I won’t cause you any shame”, she promised mirthfully as they got out of the car.

“I didn’t mean to say …”, he started to growl.

“I know! I know …” And with a playful wink and a tiny wave, she’d left him standing there, walking away with a jaunty walk and swaying hips and feeling his eyes burning holes into her back.

* * *

 

The meeting with Severus in the car had put her into a good and confident mood for almost a week. Now, however, sitting in the dirty sitting room and waiting for the assessment to begin, she felt that confidence quickly evaporating. Also, she suspicion that this was the intended effect of letting her wait so long grew – it was more than half an hour by now – and this made her slightly angry. She got up from the dingy sofa and started pacing around. She had hardly got into it when the door to the cramped room flew open and a slightly breathless Waldemar Periwinkle appeared. The beads of sweat were back on his forehead.

“Sorry for the wait, Ms Horwath. Like I said, we had some problems. You can come up now.”

She gulped as she followed the young man up a rickety staircase. Part of her wanted to ask what was coming, how she was going to be ‘assessed’, but she feared that any question in that direction might give away how nervous she was and so she said nothing. They came to a door, and when Periwinkle the Younger opened it, he made way into a spacious room, far less dusty than the rest of the house, although it looked crooked with its slanted walls and askew floorboards. In the middle of the room stood two chairs facing each other. Immediately, the word ‘interrogation’ popped up ominously in Elena’s mind.

She stepped into the room, looked about. There was a half-open door leading to an adjacent room. A loud rustle came from it.

“Stephen?” Waldemar Periwinkle called out as they entered, visibly irritated. “Where are you?”

Another rustle from the adjacent room and a tall thin figure appeared. Elena looked up and set eyes on one of the prettiest young men she had ever seen. His hair was as black as Severus’, though shorter and quite unruly, the features fine, skin pale with a slight golden hue. The young man’s eyes had the colour of molten chocolate, but they were unsteady, roving around. Elena wasn’t sure whether he had noticed her at all.

“I can’t find my quill.” The words came out in a hectic staccato.

Waldemar cleared his throat. “Ms Horwath, may I introduce my brother? Stephen Periwinkle.”

Brothers? Elena looked from one man to the other. They didn’t look related at all. “Nice to meet you”, she said to the black-haired one.

However, he ignored her. “I can’t find my quill!” he repeated, obviously distraught.

“That’s not important now, Stephen!” Waldemar’s irritation grew. “Ms Horwath is here for the assessment. Let’s go to work.”

“I cannot work without my quill!” Stephen Periwinkle insisted, turned a cold shoulder to them and disappeared into the adjacent room.

“Damn it, Stephen!!” Waldemar made to follow him, then thought twice and turned to Elena with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry about this. My brother is a little … peculiar. However, I can assure you that no one can do what he does quite like him. You’ll see.” And with that, he spurted into the next room. “Come out, you dimwit! You can look for your bloody quill later!”

The reply was dry and dogged. “I cannot work without my quill!”

“God damn it, Stephen, why _now_?! You can’t do this!”

“I _need_ my …” The rest was drowned in a frantic rustle of papers.

Elena frowned, looked around. She spotted peacock feathers on one of the window sills. “Sir, is this your quill?” she called out gently.

Stephen Periwinkle appeared in the doorframe, stared. “Don’t touch it!” he shouted and hurried towards her.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.”

“How many times have I told you?! You can’t talk to people like this!” Waldemar looked livid.

“That’s quite alright”, Elena said evenly, watching as Stephen Periwinkle picked up his quill with a satisfied murmur and proceeded to stroke it with thin, delicate fingers. “It’s a very beautiful quill”, she said.

The handsome young man looked up. For the first time, he appeared to really see her. “Elena Johanna Horwath”, he said, his pronunciation perfect. “Born 7th of May 1974 in Vienna, Austria.”

“That’s right”, she said and smiled. She was used to her name being mispronounced, ‘Elaina’ instead of ‘Élena’, ‘Joanna’ instead of ‘Yo-hanna’ and with an English ‘th’ instead of just ‘t’; she wondered if Stephen Periwinkle knew any German.

“What are you, a bloody robot?” With a quick and vicious movement, Waldemar Periwinkle hit his brother around the head with a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. “Or a zombie, more like.” He grinned at Elena, waiting for her approval, but she returned his look coldly. Waldemar fidgeted, then put on a bright face. “Let’s proceed now, shall we?”

However, Stephen ignored him, looking very earnest. “My mother gave me this quill”, he informed Elena.

“Mother’s dead!” Waldemar hissed. “Enough with that bloody quill now, one might think you’re obsessed! Sit down already. – Ms Horwath, I’m really _really_ sorry for this!”

She decided to do as Stephen did and ignored him. “Are you going to do the assessment?” she asked the young man who was carefully pocketing his quill.

“Yes. It’s what I do.”

“And he does it really well!” Waldemar butted in. “He’s an utter fool otherwise, but he can do _that_.”

Elena’s eyes darkened. She didn’t at all like the way how Waldemar talked to his brother. Certainly she saw that the young man was peculiar in a way that she didn’t quite understand. However, his eyes – as soon as they had stopped roving – were alert and intelligent. No, he wasn’t stupid; he was merely different.

“I’m not in a hurry”, she said to Stephen, “we can take our time.”

“Don’t encourage him, Ms Horwath. It was his fault you had to wait so long in the first place.”

“I survived”, she said.

Stephen looked at his brother pointedly. “She survived”, he informed him reasonably. “And I _had_ to find my quill.”

Waldemar’s head acquired a slightly purple colour.

“Uh-oh”, said Stephen, but sounded completely unfazed.

“Maybe we should begin”, Elena said gently, “what do you think? We don’t want anyone to blow a fuse, do we?”

“No. That’d be unpleasant.” Again, Stephen’s voice was monotonous, unemotional, and Elena sensed that this was his ‘problem’. It made for a wonderfully sarcastic effect, though. He pointed to the chairs in the middle of the room. “You have to sit down. There. The right one. Not the left.”

She did as told and watched attentively as Stephen sat down opposite of her. He was breathing deeply now, obviously preparing himself. Then he looked at her very earnestly. “When I tell you, you have to put your hands in mine”, he said, “but only when I tell you, not before that.”

“She understands English”, snarled Waldemar.

Elena turned her head sharply and glared at him with sparkling eyes. He clamped his mouth shut.

“The assessment of Elena Johanna Horwath, born 7th of May 1974 in Vienna, Austria, is about to begin”, Stephen Periwinkle said, sounding a little solemn. “When I tell you, you have to put your hands in mine.”

She nodded and Stephen breathed deeply again. Elena sensed that this was difficult for him, that he had to brace himself for the physical contact. When he finally said “Now!”, it sounded laboured.

His hands lay on his knees, palms facing upwards. Very gently, Elena put her hands in his. They felt warm and only slightly sweaty. As soon as contact was established, Elena felt a peculiar tension moving upwards from her hands into her arms, her shoulders, then her chest. It was like a very slight electric vibration. She tried to focus, put up her Occlumentic shield. She recalled Severus’ favourite exercise – he saying ‘blue elephant’, and she trying to think of anything but that, only now her prescience had become the blue elephant.

Stephen Periwinkle’s head fell back, his brown eyes rolled up in their sockets. The vibration in Elena’s body increased, it started to feel slightly disagreeable. She tried not to focus too much on the discomfort, but on shielding her thoughts.

A strange humming sound came from Stephen’s slightly open mouth. With a start, Elena realized that he had gone into a kind of trance. Waldemar Periwinkle watched closely from the side lines.

“Strong mental powers”, Stephen whispered in a voice quite unlike his own, “vivid imagination and powers of projection. Empathy.” Again, he inhaled sharply. “Not very practical, though. Working with magical materials won’t come off as desired.”

It was a very sound summing up of her potential, and Elena had to bite down on a smile, then focussed again.

“Also, there is …” Stephen Periwinkle broke off.

Involuntarily, she swallowed. For some reason, she sensed that this very specific power of his was much stronger than her Occlumency. Was he on to her prescience?

“What is it?” Waldemar hissed impatiently.

It jolted Stephen out of his trance. He gave his brother a cold look. “You mustn’t disturb. I told you. It ruins everything.”

“Come on, don’t be daft!”

“It ruins _everything_!” Stephen insisted, then suddenly shot up from the chair. “It’s over”, he stated dryly.

“Stephen! Go back to work!”

“It’s over”, Stephen repeated doggedly, “I’m done.”

“Do as I tell you, you dimwit! Or father will hear of this!”

Stephen twitched, but refused to sit down again.

“I’m afraid your brother has summed me up very well”, Elena said quietly. “He’s right, I’m no good at Potions and Herbology. I do better in other fields. Also, I’ve only been doing this for a short time. I guess there’s not much to see.” She allowed herself an unnoticeable sigh of relief.

“Very good at Transfiguration”, Stephen said monotonously. “Charms work, too. – However, she’ll probably never concoct a proper potion. – I recommend Arithmancy. Will school abstract thinking, though it won’t come easy.”

Waldemar Periwinkle swore under his breath, then tried to calm down. “Well. I guess that’s quite enough then.”

“So you know where to start with me now”, Elena babbled happily to distract Waldemar from demanding that his brother try again. “Guess you’ll have to plunge me into Potions and Herbology classes. Got around it way too long …”

But to her surprise, Waldemar Periwinkle shook his head. “That’s not our philosophy”, he explained tersely. “At the academy, we don’t believe in working on people’s weaknesses, but rather to further and improve on their strengths. What use is it to school you in subjects in which you’ll never achieve more than average standard? – In that way, we are very different from other teaching institutions such as Hogwarts. _We_ believe in focussing on the useful.”

‘To be properly _made use of_ ’, Elena thought sarcastically. “Interesting approach”, she said politely.

“Well”, Waldemar Periwinkle said, “I guess we’re quite done here.”

“Seriously? That was it?”

Waldemar rolled his eyes at his brother who’d ventured over to the window and stared out of it, seemingly unaware of what was going on in the room. “May I escort you down, Ms Horwath?”

“Sure!” She jumped up and followed the more obnoxious of the two young Periwinkles. In the doorframe, she turned around and looked at Stephen who’s back was still turned to her. “Good-bye, Mr Periwinkle. And thank you for your time.”

He didn’t turn, stared out of the window. Only in the last moment, when she was already out in the hallway, did she hear him say, “Good-bye, Elena Horwath.”

“I hope he didn’t upset you”, Waldemar said to her as they walked down the staircase. “He’s been that way for a long time; ever since our mother died.”

“What happened?” Elena looked worried, but Waldemar waved her question away.

“Long time ago. Doesn’t matter now.”

“Your brother didn’t upset me”, Elena said with a slight scowl, “I think he’s remarkable.”

“You’re being very polite”, Waldemar replied with a chuckle, “but you may well say it as it is: he’s a nutcase.”

She wanted to object. In fact, the way Waldemar put his brother down angered her to no end, made her want to defend him. However, she saw that it was probably not very sensible to do so. Getting emotional would not help her in the weeks to come, so she didn’t comment. It wasn’t necessary, either, because Waldemar prattled on. “They are very good with him at the academy. Father said they might eventually make a wizard out of him. Not that I believe it …”

“He’s enrolled at the academy, as well?”

“Yes, but in a special program.” He made a dismissive gesture, then smiled at her. “Are you looking forward to starting your studies?”

She stared at him astonished. “Does this mean … I’m admitted?”

“Of course! Didn’t you hear him? Strong powers, he said. – Now, you can’t trust Stephen with most things, but he is very good in that regard. – The academy would be thrilled to develop a talent such as yours.”

“Well … great!” she sputtered. “That’s exactly what I need!”

They had arrived at the front door. Instead of opening it for her, however, Waldemar Periwinkle eyed her curiously. “I thought you had a teacher? – Last time I saw you, you were quite insistent as to that.”

She had prepared herself for that question. The rueful smile was carefully studied, as was the down-casting of her eyes. “Well. That changed.” She said it in a small voice to suggest that she’d rather not talk about the reason.

“I see.” Waldemar appeared understanding. “Difficult person, Professor Snape, isn’t he?”

“Yeah”, she scoffed. The way in which she said it made Periwinkle even more sympathetic.

“You can rest easy now, Ms Horwath. Your magical education will take its course. And you don’t need to concern yourself with having to learn stuff you’re not really made for. Instead, we will focus on developing your full magical potential in a manner in which it is seldom realized in ordinary education.”

She kept an even face, but thought that this sounded like the doings of a sect. “Sounds very good indeed”, she chirped.

“Your lessons will start next week. You will be collected from your house Monday morning. Keep yourself ready at around 8 a.m.” With those words, he finally opened the door for her.

“Alright then”, she said. “Can I just ask …?”

“Yes?”

“Ansgard Periwinkle … is he your father? I wasn’t sure the first time I met you …”

“Yes. He doesn’t like to put too much on relations in a work environment, but you’re right, he’s my father. And Stephen’s, too. No one knows how that happened. The Periwinkles are known for being sharp. Probably a weakness in my mother’s blood …”

Again, Elena bit her lip. It was no use telling him that she strongly suspected Stephen to be the sharpest tool in the Periwinkle box, and that the others just didn’t see it because they weren’t as sharp as they believed. Yet again, it would have been highly undiplomatic.

“Fine”, she said, “so I’ll see you next week?”

“We might encounter each other every now and then”, Waldemar said with a warm smile – a little too warm for her taste.

Elena wanted to say ‘I’m looking forward to it’, but found that she couldn’t bring herself to say it. In only a short while, she’d come to intensely dislike Waldemar Periwinkle. So she settled for a non-committal “See you then”, inclined her head and then walked away at a brisk pace.

* * *

 

Elena was eager to get home and write an owl to Severus about what she had experienced, so when on her way she passed ‘Persephone’s Den’ – the dusty but charming wizarding café that she often went to with Cassie – she didn’t even take the time to peek in by the windows. Had she done so, she might have become witness to a little rendezvous taking place there. Or maybe she wouldn’t have, because the two participants had taken good care not to be spotted too easily. Hidden away in an alcove, they talked in hushed voices while their heads – one full of black curls, the other sporting gleaming white-blond hair – were confidentially inclined towards each other.

“I just wanted to tell you”, one of them said, “so you don’t … get the wrong idea or anything.”

A soft low chuckle answered, one that sent a pleasant shiver down the spine of the one who heard it. “Why would I get the wrong idea? Actually, I don’t have the right to get any ideas.”

“Maybe. But it’s important to me.”

“That’s very sweet of you. But you remember what I told you, don’t you? When we talked at Daphne’s party? That you should take a time out, get a clear head, find yourself …”

“ _Find myself_.” A scoff. “Sounds like Muggle talk. – No, seriously, I don’t mean anything by it, it’s just that they’re talking about it all the time, finding themselves, being their true selves, and then there’s yoga, and meditation …”

Another delighted laugh. “They _are_ a bit peculiar, aren’t they? – Well, you’re taking quite the workshop in Muggle behaviour, I hear …”

“How do you …”

“Oh, come on! You had Blaise over, didn’t you? In your Chelsea place? You know he’s a blabbermouth …”

“I specifically told him …”

“Cool down … Really, I understand! And I think you’re doing a good thing, cut the cords, try something new. It’s what I told you you should do, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did, but …”

“I don’t need to know everything. It would be totally unfair if I advised you to take some time to straighten yourself out and then told you how to do it or how _not_ to do it.”

“Still … I had a rough time. Acted out a bit. But that’s over now. I have a purpose. Something to do.”

“Like faking to be somebody’s boyfriend?” However, the smile that came with the words was friendly, blue eyes sparkled amusedly.

“It’s only for this someone’s protection. I cannot tell you the whole story, it’s sensitive. But I’m doing this for someone who did a lot for me.”

“I can guess who you mean.” Another warm smile.

“It’s … confidential.”

“I won’t ask.”

“I want you to know, though, that I’m very glad to be able to do this.”

“Do it, then.”

“I cannot _not_ do it now. I promised. But that’s why I wanted you to know.”

“I would have known, anyway …”

“… you see, that girl, she’s not even my type!”

“Stop it! It’s alright!”

Silence ensued, eyes met, and eventually hands, too. Unspoken words hung over the intertwined fingers, but there was no need to pronounce them because it was right there in their eyes, the blue pair as well as the grey. Without knowing that in this moment they were both thinking the exact same thing, they marvelled at how easy everything was if you just managed to find the right person; how naturally their two souls were drawn to each other, how easy it was to talk, and how much easier even to converse without words. It was a small miracle, and an unexpected one at that.

And for the next hour or so, Astoria Greengrass and Draco Malfoy sat in silent contemplation of said miracle.

 

* * *

 

_This story will have to take a small break as I will go on a two weeks’ vacation, visiting a friend on the other side of the world. This will be a time for reconnecting and not so much for writing, though hopefully new sights will provide new ideas._

_However, I am happy to report that the next chapter is almost finished in my head and I will start on it as soon as I get back. Its title will be “Chez Malfoy” …_

_Thanks for your reviews and support, and please don’t forget about Elena and Severus_ _J_

 

 

 


	22. Chez Malfoy

**Chez Malfoy**

 

The woods were dark and appeared larger than usual, full of mysterious sounds echoing into a seemingly infinite space under the clear night sky where stars were only just about to appear. Elena wrapped her cloak tighter around herself, yet she continued to shiver, was tense. When she thought about it, however, that sensation was a mere residue of the week that lay behind her, a week during which she’d been constantly on edge, always resisting the urge to look over her shoulder, always prepared to be busted the next minute. Her first week at the academy. Still, her head was spinning with impressions, all the things she’d seen and heard. However, staring into the black darkness of the forest was like cool balm to her eyes. She sighed, breathed, felt the tension slowly disappear – when a crack made her turn around sharply.

A hooded figure stood right behind her, almost looming, almost menacing, hadn’t it been for the protruding nose that told her immediately who this was.

“Sneaking up on someone never gets old, does it?” she remarked sarcastically.

“Especially on people who’re easily scared”, was Snape’s quick repartee.

Elena grinned. The tension was back, but it was a very different kind of tension. “Extravagant meeting point”, she said, though it wasn’t really true. They had often been here before, the small clearing in the woods close to where they both lived and where they had frequently practiced fighting spells. Elena had a particularly good relationship with the undergrowth and shrubs into which Severus’ spells had often sent her flying.

“ _Private_ meeting point”, he snarled, “we’re not talking anymore, remember?”

“How could I forget? I had to tell that story quite a few times during the last week.”

He brushed back the hood and examined her coolly. “No problems then?”

“No. But you already knew that.”

They had agreed on a secret signal. Every evening when she’d got home safely from the Crowley academy, Elena had lit a red-and-orange Chinese lampion and put it into her bedroom window as a sign for Snape that everything was in order. He had insisted on it, pledging himself to a brief visit to Spinner’s End every night to check on it, and although Elena had thought the measure pretty useless – after all, once he’d notice that the lamp wasn’t lit, she might already be discovered, imprisoned, interrogated or whatever for hours – she had complied, thinking that his worry was sweet somehow.

“There’ll be plenty of chances for you to tell your story”, he said with a busy air, “once we’ve arrived at Malfoy Manor. We have to get going now.”

“There’s still plenty of time”, she argued, because, if truth be told, she was almost bursting with the need to regale him with every detail of her experience.

“A lot of time if we were to Apparate”, he agreed, “but we’re not going to.” To Elena’s surprise, he held up a battered-looking broom.

She made a face. “Broom-riding? In this cold??”

“Some comfort-loving Muggle you are …”

“You know damn well I can’t ride a broom!”

“Yes. Because you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared!” she lied heatedly. “I just never learnt properly!”

“Because you keep postponing and evading it, as scared people will do. And that’s why you’re going to ride with me tonight to get used to the feeling.”

“You know, it’s really because I hate the idea of having that stick between my legs …”

“I don’t care about your excuses. We’re gonna do this.”

He threw the broom onto the ground determinedly, stuck out his hand and said a quiet “Up!”. Obediently, the broom rose a few feet above ground and Severus gestured to Elena with his ‘You’re-going-to-do-what-I-want’-face. To his surprise, she mounted it after only a moment’s hesitation. Little did he know that she had just realized that riding a broom with him might be similar to riding a motorcycle with a boy you fancied, close to him, in something similar to an embrace.

It wasn’t quite as thrilling as she had expected, though. First of all, it was bloody cold up there in the black December sky, and although she wasn’t usually afraid of heights, sitting on nothing but a stick made her feel nauseous. Severus’ grip around her waist, although enchanting, was far too light for comfort and Elena realized that he wasn’t going to ride a ‘grandmother broom’ and go slowly. Once or twice, she made a feeble attempt at asking him not to race like that, upon which he shouted back against the howl of wind how she thought they might get from the Midlands to Wiltshire on time otherwise. So while she was moaning anxiously, her fingers cramped around the broom handle and she pressed her thighs together with all her strength, no matter that he purred “Relax” into her ear at least a dozen times, and she held her breath for almost the entire time that they sped along under the nightly dome. She got the hang of it only when the broom was already sinking; her stiff limbs loosened a little and she dared let her head fall back against his shoulder, feeling his warm breath tickling her cheek. Damn it, the whole ride could have been erotic if only she wasn’t such a fraidy-cat!

As it was, however, her attention was distracted by the grand house that came into view as they neared the ground, nesting between green hills with a brook running along its back. The manor’s windows were brightly lit, yet it managed to convey a sinister impression with its towers and turrets, the accurate gravel path and the well-kept French gardens that looked structured and immaculate even from above. Snape set down the broom with unexpected gentleness, and as they walked up to the manor over the crunching gravel, Elena frantically ordered her hair, growling under her breath that she needn’t have bothered with grooming and curling. She was nervous, venturing into _his_ territory, about to meet people that meant – or had meant – something to him. Severus, however, only gave her a sarcastic once-over and remarked that now at least she looked like a witch. He, too, seemed unusually tense.

The doors to the manor sprang open as soon as they approached them. Two rows of house elves stood to attention, and Elena thought that they were even longer than the lines at Abrasax Manor. Down a gently winding staircase, in the glow of a thousand floating candles, glided a slender woman in a long gown and a veil of blonde hair flowing over her shoulders and back. She had the elegant movements of a woman who’d been taught to behave like a lady since her childhood. In her wake followed a young man in well-tailored dress robes who looked like her page boy. Draco overtook his mother on the steps and came towards them with a broad grin and a swagger.

“Welcome to Malfoy Manor”, he said, mostly beaming at Snape. “I am so glad you could make it.” He turned to Elena and inclined his head with only a hint of sarcasm. “Good to see you.”

“You too”, Elena replied, and amidst the grandeur around her, she couldn’t help the catch in her throat. Draco noticed her apprehension and his proud smile deepened. It was obvious that he was all set to play Lord of the Manor tonight and thoroughly enjoyed himself in that role.

They had, of course, seen a lot of each other during the last week. Frequently at Draco’s Chelsea flat, practicing Occlumency; but more often than not they had walked the streets of the wizarding world – mainly in the evenings, after Elena’s lessons had ended – with the intention of _being seen_. And they had been duly noted, that much was clear, with curious glances and whispers. Draco had played the role of boyfriend admirably, never overdoing it with the hand-holding, but always conveying an air of confidentiality with her that suggested a degree of intimacy. Elena had been impressed by his acting skills. By now, she was quite certain that it would only be a matter of time until someone from the academy would ask her about her ‘new boyfriend’. – The interesting part of their little charade was that in the course of it, she and Draco had come to … well, maybe not _like_ each other, but develop a friendly respect. When Elena was honest with herself, she found him easier to talk to than she would have expected. She felt acutely that he did his best not to let her feel any resentments he might still have against Muggles and Muggle-borns. At the same time, however, she felt that he did it mostly for Snape’s sake whom he deeply admired and wanted to please. It should have made her sceptical, but really endeared Draco to her.

The young wizard gestured to Elena to give him her cloak. She peeled out of it a little self-consciously. Admittedly, the floor-length black dress she had borrowed from Cassie had quite a daring neckline and hugged her curves. Out of the corner of her eyes, she flashed a look at Severus. However, he appeared completely impassive; for all she knew, he didn’t take any notice of her appearance, not even when Draco made a politely charming remark. Snape’s eyes were on their hostess who came towards them at a leisure pace, as if she had all the time in the world, and from her perspective, she probably did.

“Severus, you’re here. I’m so glad.” The smile on Narcissa Malfoy’s carefully made-up face was gracious, but also kind. However, Elena saw the traces of a spoilt existence around her mouth and nose and was quite thrown off by the woman’s looks. She was beautiful in a classy way that was quite rare these days. “And you brought your friend”, the Lady of the Manor went on, acknowledging Elena with an ever so slight inclining of her chin. “I have heard a lot about you, my dear, and am very pleased to meet you at last.” Her eyes dashed amusedly towards Draco who went on to formally introduce Elena. “And as you may have guessed”, he added ironically once he’d finished, “this is my mother, the magnificent Narcissa Malfoy.”

“Stop it, Draco, she’ll think I’m pompous”, Narcissa Malfoy scoffed elegantly, though it was obvious that she wouldn’t give a hoot about what Elena thought of her – or anyone, for that matter.

“I won’t. Promise”, Elena blurted out, then clamped her mouth shut, shocked at the stupidity of her remark, and hurried to say a pretty ‘Hello’. _But_ she was nervous! It was something about this house, the grand hall, the scurrying house-elves dragging away their cloaks with utmost servility, the studied smile of their hostess who had again turned to Snape. Out of the corners of her eyes, Elena watched their encounter. They didn’t say anything, just stood looking unwavering at each other until Severus gently took Narcissa Malfoy’s hand and bent over it, his lips stopping just above the skin of her slender fingers. When he let go of her hand, Narcissa put it on the lapel of his formal coat and smiled up at him radiantly. Her pleasure at seeing and welcoming him to her house was obvious, so obvious it didn’t need words. What was clear as well was that they knew each other, had a history, a connection that – as far as Elena knew – Snape had with hardly anyone; she was surprised at the sharp pang of jealousy she felt when watching them.

“My father won’t grace us with his presence tonight”, Draco announced, drawling the words in a show of boredom, “he is in no state to …”

“Draco”, Narcissa admonished him gently, “there’s no need to go into detail. I’m sure Severus is aware that Lucius’s been a little under the weather lately.”

“Quite”, Snape confirmed, not showing any emotion, “and I’m sure Draco will stand in perfectly.”

“Let’s proceed to the salon then, shall we? – What a lovely gown you’re wearing, my dear.”

Elena’s cheeks flushed. “Thank you”, she whispered, but didn’t fail to notice that Narcissa’s dress – midnight-blue silk with fine silver embroidery and mother-of-pearl beads – was a whole different league, making Elena feel almost dowdy in comparison. Actually, the whole place made her feel insignificant and inconsequential. She glanced at Severus, but he was closing up to Narcissa who led the way to the salon, talking to her in his quietest and silkiest voice.

“Well, _girlfriend_?” Draco came to her side, brushing a lock of hair out of his face. “You’re really looking swell, considering.”

“Considering _what_?” She shot him a narrow-eyed look. “That I’m a Muggle-born?”

“I didn’t mean that”, he murmured hastily, “I was trying to be nice.”

“And you were”, she said with a rueful little smile, “I’m sorry. – It’s just … _he_ insisted on coming here by broom. I’m still a little … blown over.”

Draco chuckled. “You must compose yourself”, he said while he directed her across the hall, “because my mother said that she wants to hear everything about that academy. She’s very curious about things since she’s more or less retreated from the wizarding world …”

Elena looked doubtful. “I don’t know …”

“She’s alright”, Draco assured her with a serious expression on his pointed face, and he pointed to the two people leading the way. “You can see that he, too, trusts her, can’t you?”

Narcissa Malfoy and Severus Snape were walking very close to each other, their shoulders almost touching.

“Hard to miss”, Elena replied, growling in spite of herself.

Draco chuckled, but was obviously in no mood to put her at ease. “Remind me. There’s something I need to show you, after dinner. I’m sure you’ll find it very interesting.”

“Great. Can’t wait.” However, it sounded a bit dispirited.

In the 17th-century style salon, drinks were served, crystal flutes on silver trays, filled with sparkling champagne that Elena sloshed down gratefully, hoping that it would make her more relaxed. To her surprise, she found that as soon as she had drained the glass, it magically refilled itself. She took ample advantage of that, and when she felt an ever so slight spin in her head she made herself politely address their hostess.

“You have a beautiful home, Madam Malfoy.”

“Please, call me Narcissa.” A gracious smile met Elena before the older witch looked around doubtfully. “You’re being kind, but I always found it a little gloomy. Over the years, I have made a few changes, but only as far as my husband would allow me. He is _very_ proud of his heritage.”

“Of course”, Elena murmured, suddenly feeling small again. What was this? She wasn’t usually conscious because she was a Muggle-born; the idea of blood supremacy was utter nonsense to her. However, this place _breathed_ blood supremacy and it got to her, while at the same time she asked herself why she let it.

“She has never seen a place like this”, Snape explained to Narcissa and sounded completely patronizing.

“That’s not true”, Elena said sharply, feeling the champagne in her cheeks. “I have been to museums …”

Draco sniggered.

“… and to Abrasax Manor!”

Narcissa raised her eyebrows. “That’s the Crowley’s place, isn’t it? – I have heard about it. So you’ve been there? What is it like?”

“Lots of house-slaves … um … _elves_ ”, Elena blurted out, earning a stern glare from Snape. She felt a strong urge to stick her tongue out at him.

However, Narcissa laughed and it sounded as sweet as the chattering of a brook. Everything about her was refined, almost aristocratic. “You have to tell me everything about that Crowley Academy, dear. Draco’s told me very little, and I’m dying with curiosity. – Where, for instance, is it located?”

Elena opened her mouth to reply. However, she found that she couldn’t. Her tongue was suddenly as heavy as lead and she couldn’t even lift it, let alone speak. Three pairs of eyes were on her and she couldn’t get out one word, in spite of the alcohol she’d consumed to loosen up. Her fingers cramping around the champagne glass, Elena stared up at Severus desperately who stared back with cool interest.

“Tongue-tie”, he said to the Malfoys, “they probably made her take a Fidelius.”

“Makes sense”, murmured Narcissa, examining Elena as if she was an insect in a glass jar.

“I don’t know … anything about that”, Elena croaked, utterly confused. She found that her mind felt stuffed as with wet cotton wool in which her thoughts and intentions had got stuck.

“I guess they Obliviated her after the event”, Draco said importantly to his elders before turning to Elena with the air of someone completely in the know. “Try not to think about it. It will only confuse you.”

However, she was already confused. What a strange feeling! Not to be able to speak about something, not even to think of it although she wanted to!

“Draco’s right”, Narcissa warned her, “you might even hurt yourself trying. A Fidelius is a powerful charm.” When Elena stared at her with wide eyes, the lady of the house took her arm and led her on to the next room. “I realize this must be scary for you. It would be to me, and I’ve been a witch all my life. But not to worry, we will find a way to ask around it; we’re good at that, aren’t we, Severus?” She looked over her shoulder and Elena saw her wink at Snape. He responded with a smile, a genuine one, as Elena had hardly ever seen it on him. With a mounting feeling of foolishness, she let Narcissa take her into a grand dining room. It had a style very different from the salon they had just left, all stone pillars and arches and with a long and magnificently set dinging. House-elves were holding out chairs for them. Out of the corner of her eyes, Elena saw Snape hesitate in the doorway. For the briefest of moments, it seemed as if he was bracing himself, but then he went straight to the chair that Narcissa indicated to him, face impassive as ever.

The next hour was taken up exclusively by eating and polite dinner talk. Course after course arrived – the dishes small, but elegant – and the wine glasses were generously refilled in short intervals by house-elves behaving like stern butlers with immovable faces. Draco and Narcissa did most of the talking, telling Snape about mutual acquaintances; he issued a response every now and then, or rather the occasional assenting murmur. However, it was obvious that he didn’t feel too comfortable. Elena watched him out of the corners of her eyes and noticed with interest that right from the start, he seemed to particularly enjoy the wine. Not that she blamed him, she drank quite a bit of it herself, but that was chiefly because she didn’t have anything to contribute to the conversation. She was an outsider and very much aware of it. However, the wine did the trick eventually, she felt herself relax, leant back in the chair with the stiff high back and observed what was going on around her.

Narcissa, for instance, obviously very much enjoyed the company. Her eyes sparkled while she talked vivaciously and even with a note of desperation which made Elena guess that she was usually quite lonely, with Draco out of the house and a husband in a generally sulky mood. Elena eyed the place setting at the end of the dining table, put there as if someone might make an appearance any time. On the one hand, she would have liked to meet the elusive Lucius Malfoy to complete her mental image of the family; on the other hand, she found the present company overwhelming enough. At the same time, she felt the occasional itch at the back of her head as if the master of the house was watching from some hiding place. It made her wonder whether Snape felt it, too, and whether this was the reason for his generous wine consumption and the way he kept shifting on his chair.

Dinner conversation was revolving – and had been for a while – around a character by the name of Theodore Nott. A Death Eater, quite obviously, and a peer of Draco’s. It appeared that since the end of the last wizarding war, he had displayed quite a talent at escaping the authorities, duping them on more than one occasion and going underground. Draco declared that he hadn’t thought “the guy had it in him”, and Severus, too, remembered Nott as a mediocre student – referring to Theodore’s sister Alice as “the brain of the family” – who had never shown traits of particular cunning.

“And yet he escaped out of a secured cell in the Ministry dungeons on the first occasion presenting itself!” Narcissa exclaimed, and the admiration was clearly visible on her face.

“When did this happen?” asked Snape with an incredulously raised eyebrow.

“Only two weeks ago”, Draco said. “Blaise told me. He said that Nott must have had some help, probably something magical. They kept it out of the papers, it was such an embarrassment …”

“Quite daring, don’t you think?” Narcissa chuckled delightedly. “A true Slytherin …”

“Like I said, I’d never have guessed. Right, he was a loner, and certainly not as dim as Crabbe and Goyle, but …”

“Maybe he was just lucky”, Snape said with a shrug, but a smile was playing around his thin lips.

“Maybe. Yet, I can’t help wishing that boy luck. Such cunning, such daring! It’s …” She broke off, staring at Elena. “I’m so sorry, dear, we’re being unforgivably rude talking about people that you don’t know …”

However, Elena doubted that this was the true reason. In fact, Narcissa – and probably Draco, and Severus, too, to a degree – couldn’t quite help rooting for their old associates. And with the menacing figure of Lord Voldemort gone, a boy wizard on the run and tricking authorities appeared like an underdog – no matter what he’d done in the past – and one was disposed to congratulate him. Good and evil were, as Elena had noted before, largely a matter of circumstance and perspective. She turned a smile on Narcissa. “Don’t worry about that. Most things I hear in the wizarding world are new to me.”

Narcissa looked at her attentively. For the fraction of a second, she appeared to wrinkle her pretty, slightly turned-up nose, but caught herself immediately, looking kindly. “I can only imagine”, she purred smoothly. “The last months must have been very eventful for you. – What do your parents say about your newly discovered talents?”

Elena’s cheeks reddened. “I haven’t told them”, she confessed.

Narcissa’s eyes widened. “No? – I should have thought …”

“For Muggles, mother, it’s sometimes as embarrassing to have a witch or wizard in the family as it is for us when a squib is born”, Draco explained with the same patience as if he was imparting a recent global development his mother hadn’t yet heard about.

“When they really should be proud?” Narcissa asked a little incredulously.

“You have to put yourself in their shoes”, Draco said and swept his white-blond hair across his forehead as he leant back, every bit the liberal man of the world. “Imagine you can do nothing but work with your hands, or your brains if you have them, and then have a child upsetting stuff with the wink of an eye. Be stronger than you are. Wouldn’t you find that scary?”

“Probably”, Narcissa admitted, still looking a bit mystified. She suddenly looked up, sought Snape’s eyes. “How was that for you, Severus? I keep forgetting you’re a half-blood. Was your father afraid of you?”

Elena squirmed, knowing that this was a touchy subject. However, Severus responded with surprising calm. “He was. Although he didn’t appear scared at the time. It was more the other way around.”

Narcissa digested that, and it was obvious that it wasn’t too easy for her, that this line of thought was new. Then her face changed slightly as she remembered something. “Isn’t your mother with you right now?”

Snape sighed and murmured assent. Elena, sitting at his side, couldn’t help smiling, which Narcissa saw.

“Have you met her?” she asked curiously.

“Briefly”, Elena replied curtly, not wanting to discuss it, and a sly expression appeared on Narcissa’s face, although she didn’t ask further.

“Draco says she was very kind to him”, Narcissa declared lightly.

Involuntarily, Elena’s eyebrows shot up. Severus caught it and the corners of his mouth quirked.

“Tell us about the academy then”, Narcissa quickly changed the subject, “unless, of course, your tongue-tie extends to lessons, as well.”

Elena had thought of that possibility and started a little hesitantly, but soon found out that she could talk about most things in quite an uninhibited manner. In actual fact, she had waited for this moment, bursting as she was with the events of the week. So she explained how she had been asked to present herself once more at 66 Carcass Lane last Monday morning where another carriage drawn by Hippogriffs had picked her up. It hadn’t been as grand as the private coach of the Crowleys and there had been no champagne waiting for her inside, but Waldemar Periwinkle instead, as well as a thin pale girl dressed in a black veil, huddled into a corner. The girl hadn’t been introduced to her, other than Waldemar explaining to her that she didn’t speak any English but was a rare talent sent to the academy by her parents. Elena had tried speaking to the girl – who’d been no older than fifteen or sixteen at most – going through all the languages she had at least a fleeting knowledge of. However, she hadn’t got a response, the girl had stared at her blankly and with a look of disgust. When Elena had given up, Waldemar had shrugged at her in an ‘I-told-you-so’ manner, looking smug and satisfied.

“Wait”, Narcissa interrupted the account, “Waldemar _Who-Did-You-Say_?”

“Periwinkle”, Snape explained before Elena could, “you heard right.”

“Not Ansgard Periwinkle’s _son_??”

When Elena confirmed that, Narcissa looked mystified. “Never knew he had a son …”

“He has two”, Elena explained, “Waldemar and Stephen. I met them both.”

“You did? You never said so.” This from Severus, with a stern look.

“You didn’t let me. – Yeah, Stephen Periwinkle was the one who assessed me”, Elena continued, “he has this talent where he takes someone’s hands and feels in which directions their magical abilities are going …”

“Interesting”, remarked Draco, looking intrigued.

“Is old Periwinkle even married?” asked the Lady of the Manor.

“Was. He’s a widower”, Severus said, thus revealing that he was informed about the man who, as the hearing at the Wizengamot had shown, continued to be one of his harshest critics and probably an enemy, as well. “His wife’s name was Maude, neé Abbott. She died many years ago in an accident involving an aggressive magical plant.”

Elena knew how good he was with names, but was still surprised. “How do you know that?”

“It was in the _Prophet_ then”, Snape replied with a shrug. “One of the sons was with her when it happened. He was unharmed, though I’ve heard rumours that the incident has pushed him over the edge somehow.”

“Somehow?” Elena repeated doubtfully. She guessed that Severus meant Stephen. The story of what had happened to his mother quite shocked her.

“The child has never been to Hogwarts”, Severus went on reasonably, “home-schooled, which suggests that he wasn’t suitable for an ordinary school system.”

Elena was tempted to voice her thoughts on Stephen Periwinkle, but remembered that this was not what the others wanted to hear and thus continued to tell her story. She described how after half-an-hour’s flight, she had arrived at _the place_. She couldn’t explain it any differently, because the moment she thought about the location of the academy, her tongue became heavy again. Whatever spell had been put on her at the academy – and she couldn’t even remember when exactly it had been done – was very strong indeed. And thus, she was unable to tell her listeners that she knew damn well where the Crowley Academy was – nowhere else but in an outhouse of Abrasax Manor, called Abrasax House, next door to where the Crowley family lived. But then, realizing this hadn’t exactly come as a surprise to her.

Upon her arrival, she had gone through an admission procedure, mainly consisting of her filling out forms in the presence of a kind and formally dressed witch who’d then presented her with a timetable and sent her on her way to classes. According to the schedule, it had been Transfiguration which had put her into a good mood right away as it was her favourite subject. However, the lesson hadn’t quite gone as she’d expected.

The classroom had been spacious, almost purist, suffused with a bright December sunlight and only a small number of desks. Along with her, six other students had gathered there, only half of them English as she had soon found out, and of varying ages. The pale girl from the carriage had not been among them; Elena had watched her being ushered away to a place unknown immediately upon arrival.

The teacher – a witch in her fifties and obviously pure-blood (by now, Elena was quite able to tell the difference) – had had a heavy French accent, introducing herself as Madame Calvet. She was tall with smoke-grey hair arranged in a beehive and left an altogether stern and forbidding impression. However, the first thing she’d done had been impressive: with only a few sparse waves of her wand she had transfigured a leather bag first into a jewellery box, then into a teapot and then into a vermillion-feathered bird she’d let fly out of the window. The speed by which she’d done it had taken the student’s breath away; even Elena had realized that this was quite out of the ordinary. Normally, transfiguring was a process that required a lot of concentration, and even then no more than variants of any original object could be achieved. When the students had stopped gasping, Madame Calvet had explained that this kind of powerful transfiguration could only be done by means of certain mental techniques; these techniques were exactly what Madame Calvet was going to teach her students. She had then asked them to all gather their chairs and form a circle in the middle of the room. What had happened then Elena found hard to explain.

“It was like meditating”, she said, “she wanted us to practice emptying our minds. So we sat there like idiots, I was totally expecting her to start with _Om mani padme hum_ any moment …”

“ _Om_ what??”

“Meditation mantra”, Snape supplied dryly, “Muggles think it’s useful.”

Elena cast him a dirty look. “Anyway”, she went on, “Madame Calvet explained that ordinary wizards only use a fraction of their brain power as it is, and if the dormant parts could be awakened and harnessed for magic, anything was possible, one’s magic would become so much stronger …”

Severus scoffed and all eyes turned on him. “That’s not new”, he declared, “it’s the basis of Dark Arts.”

Narcissa raised another eyebrow and looked partly amused. “They’re teaching their students Dark Arts?”

“I don’t know about that”, Elena said, “but I certainly never heard the words ‘consciousness’ and ‘capacity enhancement’ that often in one week. To be frank, it reminded me of the workings of a cult. Have any of you ever heard about Scientology?” However, she met with blank gazes and waved it away. “It all sounds interesting, no doubt. But I can’t shake the feeling that most of it is quite … dodgy.”

“Did it take?” Draco asked curiously.

Elena grinned, then stretched out her hand. Within a few seconds – and solely by using her hand – she transfigured her fork into a quill, then into a pencil, then back into a fork.

“Whoa!” was Draco’s reaction.

“Not too bad”, said Severus with a dead-pan face and gulped down the rest of his wine before impetuously holding out the glass to be refilled by a scurrying house-elf.

“However dodgy, those techniques appear to work”, remarked Narcissa, partly amused. “That can’t be too bad, can it?”

“I’m not quite sure”, Elena replied, “and maybe it’s just me that I find it … peculiar and … dangerous.”

“Magic can be dangerous”, proposed Narcissa.

“It all depends on how you use it”, Snape commented. “I agree with Elena, though, in that it all sounds very … power-oriented.”

“How about the other students?” Draco wanted to know. “What did they think about it?”

“Most of them were just thrilled. – I found out later that at least two of them are more or less squibs, though from very wealthy families. So I’m guessing that they bought their way into the academy. They did get quite good results, too, and it was obviously much more than they’d expected.”

“We should send Argus Filch there”, murmured Snape and it earned him a neighing laugh from Draco as well as a delighted chuckle from Narcissa.

Elena who didn’t know who Argus Filch was went on. “In the afternoon, it was Charms. The teacher’s a guy from Russia, he hardly speaks English, but he was very well able to let us know what he wanted from us, just by menacing stares and imperious gestures. – Again, he started the lesson with meditation. _Any_ lesson there starts with it. – The next day was even harder. It was Arithmancy almost all morning …”

“Good!”

“… and a subject that’s called ‘Introduction to the Kabbalah’.”

“How about that …”

“But the Wednesday was very special. All academy students had to gather in a large hall, again sitting in a circle.”

“Doing what?”

Elena sighed. “I guess it’s best described as … group therapy. Each of us was asked in turn to get up and introduce themselves. We were invited to explain what magic meant to us, how our education had gone so far. And then …”, she interrupted herself briefly, shuddering at the memory, “… all the other students were asked to assess the person whose turn it was. Say how that person made them _feel_. There was a lot of talk about improving one’s charisma, how to project ‘a more magical image of oneself’ …”

“How was that for you?”

“Ghastly!” Elena shook her head. “They basically all told me that I come over like a weak inconsequential Muggle. They also said that I could be forgiven, considering my … career so far. However, there was a consensus that I must change …”

“That’s outrageous!” To Elena’s surprise, Narcissa’s appeared quite scandalized. “No one can tell you that! It’s like … they want to change your personality!”

Elena, who’d expected Madam Malfoy to agree with the ‘weak inconsequential Muggle’ part, smiled at her. “It _was_ harrowing. I mean, I told myself not to take it too personally, not to put too much weight on what was being said, but still … imagine standing there with all eyes on you and everybody telling you what they thought was wrong with you …”

“I quite see that”, Narcissa said sympathetically.

Snape, however, immediately saw the practical side. “It will probably make you tougher. – Also, Draco, you see that there’s work to do. Teach her how to block out such things. It can easily be done by means of Occlumency techniques.”

“I tried that”, Elena stated, “honestly, I was so glad that we practiced. It helped me not to let things get to me too much.” She cast a grateful smile at Draco who winked and was obviously quite pleased with himself.

“Are those Wednesday sessions going to be a regular?” Narcissa wanted to know.

“I think so. Excessive soul-baring appears to be part of the process.”

Severus shot her a worried glance. And he was, of course, right. The danger that she might give away her motives, might lay open something that she shouldn’t was obvious. It had been a source of worry to Elena all week.

“Did you make any friends with the other students?” This from Draco.

“No. Most of them look down on me because I’m a Mudblood …”

“I told you time and again not to use that word!”

“But that’s what they’re clearly thinking! I’m not stupid, I can see it on their faces! – However, I have to say that the teachers are kind about it. Madame Calvet certainly doesn’t like me much personally, but she said that I had ‘potential’.”

“Of course. They’ll eventually want to put you to use.”

“But what use?”

“That’s what you’re there to find out.”

“Speaking about ‘finding out’”, this was Draco again, “was there anything you found peculiar? Things worth sticking your nose in?”

“ _Everything_ was peculiar!” Elena scoffed. “But nothing of the kind you’re probably referring to, no, not so far. I find it peculiar though that they don’t care about giving your magical education a solid basis. I don’t have any Herbology lessons, for example, not to mention Potions …”

“Seriously??”

“Yes. When I was assessed, it was found that I have no talent for these things, and their philosophy appears to be to only further existing talent, not waste time on fields that will probably never amount to much, anyway.” Snape sighed audibly, but Elena ignored him. “Speaking of philosophy … they teach me Magical Philosophy there. All Thursday morning, in fact. – Actually, I think that’s cool, I’ve always been interested in philosophy. However, it’s wizarding philosophy of the more Machiavellian type. From what I can tell so far, it’s all about ‘if you have the power and are capable of using it, you’re at liberty to do anything you want with it’. Go figure.”

Silence fell. Narcissa and Draco exchanged meaningful looks while Snape stared into his wine glass. Eventually Elena tried to break up the tension by telling them about the rest of her week. She’d had history lessons, as well, which was great as she hardly knew anything about wizarding history; however, she couldn’t yet tell which direction the syllabus would take. There had also been more Transfiguration and Charms, and more meditation on top of it. On the whole, the week had gone by pretty fast, as always in times filled with new impressions. It had also left her exhausted, and she felt it now that she came to the end of her tale.

“Altogether, it was certainly interesting”, she concluded, “but after a week … what can you say?”

“Do you think there’s any chance I could get in through you?” Draco asked, concentration on his face.

Elena’s face lightened up. “Well, I’m happy to tell you that our efforts didn’t go unnoticed. In fact, Waldemar Periwinkle asked me about it. He was following me around all week, like a shadow, asking me how I was doing, if I was settling in. And he asked me at least twice why _you_ won’t teach me anymore.” She looked pointedly at Severus. “I acted as if I didn’t want to talk about it, like I was embarrassed. But on Thursday, Waldemar came up to me, all grins, claiming that now he knew and whether Professor Snape liked my _new boyfriend_.”

Narcissa chuckled happily, Draco grinned broadly. “What did you tell him?”

“I played hard-to-nail-down, of course. If you don’t give people too much, they’ll make assumptions. I could see that to Waldemar it was obvious that _you_ , Draco, were the reason I’d come to the academy. He spoke very highly of your family, by the way.”

“Which is surprising”, growled Snape, “considering how much his father hates Death Eaters.”

The remark made Elena frown. “Or maybe he just tried to mollycoddle me. I haven’t found out yet what’s behind it. It appears to me that there are ties between the Periwinkles and the Crowleys, but I cannot possibly say what they are. – However, after Waldemar sang the Malfoy praise, I’m pretty sure that eventually he’ll ask me to bring you along.”

“We’ll have to prepare ourselves”, Narcissa said with a side-glance at her son.

“We?” Elena looked back and forth between the Malfoys.

Narcissa smiled mysteriously. “I thought it wouldn’t hurt if I took an interest. Make a generous donation, for instance. It might open doors.”

“That is a fine idea, Narcissa.” Suddenly, Snape was all silky and charming again, even smiling a little. “It might help us a great deal. And quite obviously they like pure-bloods at that academy.”

“One thing I _do_ know is that they offer furthering classes for wizards who already have a formal education”, Elena supplied, looking at Draco. “So they might know what to do with you if you showed that you’re willing … Oh!” She hit her forehead with her palm. “I almost forgot … you asked me before if there was anything peculiar. Well, there _was_ an incident, though I don’t know if it’s worth mentioning …”

Again, three curious pairs of eyes turned to her.

“There was an explosion in one of the classrooms. It was on the Thursday, during Magical Philosophy. A very loud bang, windows shattering, screaming … Our teacher locked us in, we weren’t allowed to leave the room, and a few minutes later we heard something … A shuffling of feet outside, and somebody moaning, like an animal.”

“Could you find out what it was?”

“I tried. Asked Waldemar. He became a little … nervous, and said it was just a regular Potions accident. Someone had obviously thrown the wrong ingredient into the mix …”

“A situation that should be very familiar to you …”

“Oh, come on, not again! – Anyway, I got the feeling that he didn’t quite tell me the truth. I tried to Legilimens it out of him, but I’m not good enough and couldn’t do it. Something was going on there, but I don’t know what it is. Yet.”

“Work on Legilimency, as well”, Snape remarked tersely to Draco.

“Well, this is all very fascinating”, Narcissa said who had obviously enjoyed herself immensely during Elena’s tale. “I’m curious to find out more about this place, and to go there myself, eventually. – Now, anyone up for dessert?”

The house-elves had already come in with overloaded trays bearing all kinds of sweets, puddings, tarts, éclairs. Snape issued a frustrated sigh and turned to his wine glass, but Elena had a sweet tooth and accepted a generous serving of chocolate tart.

“We’ll need some port to go with that”, Narcissa commanded haughtily to the house-elves, then the refined smile returned to her lips. “And after that, we shall walk a little. Surely Elena wants a tour of the manor?”

Elena wanted to say ‘not really’, because wizarding houses still disconcerted her, and this one specifically. However, she saw that she wouldn’t get out of it and opted for a polite nod instead before she made short work of her dessert.

 

* * *

 

After dinner, Draco whisked Elena away for the promised tour of Malfoy Manor while Narcissa and Severus made to follow at a more moderate pace, at first at least. Eventually, however, they lingered quite far behind the two younger people and then found themselves somehow stuck in the salon, unconsciously seeking each other’s company. It had been a long time since they had spoken, much longer even since they had conversed openly without the constant urge to look over their shoulders. Hence, Narcissa’s first question was unusually direct.

“Why so glum, Severus? Aren’t you enjoying yourself?”

His eyebrow quirked. “Am I glum?”

“It appears so. Something’s bothering you. I’m guessing it’s Lucius?” She smiled ruefully.

“Lucius’s not here”, Snape said reasonably, “so how could he upset me?”

“Well, you might see his non-attendance as an insult …”

Snape shook his head. “It’s not that.”

“What is it, then?”

A sarcastic sneer appeared on his pale face. “The last time I sat at your dinner table, I witnessed a woman being eaten by a snake.”

Narcissa’s eyes widened. “Gosh, Severus, I didn’t realize …! What was her name again? Chastity Something?”

“Charity Burbage. She was a colleague of mine.”

Narcissa stared at the ground. “Of course. I am so sorry …”

“Don’t worry about it. We were at war. Such things …” His voice trailed off.

However, Narcissa seemed distraught. “I’m only just realizing how it must have been for you. Witnessing all these things and all the time you had …”

“… a different agenda”, he finished the sentence in a quiet, somewhat constricted voice. “I betrayed you. I’m very much aware of that. At the same time, I can’t say I regret it.”

“You should have said something.”

“That would have been stupid. Burden you and Lucius with such a confession?”

“There was a point when ‘such a confession’ would have been a godsend to us! In actual fact, you were doing what we wanted to do, but didn’t dare to!”

“And yet, how could I know where that point was? And had I told you, I would have had to worry that _he_ might somehow get it out of you. It would only have added to my troubles.”

“Of course”, Narcissa whispered. “I’m not reproaching you. You did the right thing.”

He didn’t reply, but his black eyes rested on her face. Narcissa appeared to be lost in thought, faintly smiling to herself. When she looked up at him, her eyes were a little moist. “I never thanked you”, she said.

“There’s no need”, he responded quietly.

“Oh yes, there is. The way you protected Draco. The Unbreakable Vow …”

He waved it away, but Narcissa went on.

“… and for being such a gentleman.”

Snape looked at her, realized by her intense look what she meant and looked down onto the floor, as well. “Don’t mention it.”

“But I have to! I was … desperate, you see …”

“I realized that. Yet, it was never necessary …”

“It wasn’t just that! Lucius was in jail …”

“I realized that, too.”

A faint smile crossed Narcissa’s face. “You don’t understand. I _wanted_ to. It wasn’t just to … compensate you for what you’d done for me and Draco.”

“Oh.” Again, he didn’t meet her gaze, but the colour of his white hollow cheeks had changed a little.

“Now, however, I’m glad you brushed me off. It would stand between me and Lucius, if he knew about it or not …”

“My reasoning precisely.”

She studied his face, smiling a little. “Weren’t you even … tempted?”

His black eyes swept over her and he scoffed. “Of course I was. You’re a beautiful woman, Narcissa.”

Silence ensued, and the smile on her face was a little satisfied. “Anyway. I wanted to tell you that.”

“And now you did.”

For at least a minute, they stood facing each other in silence, a silence that was slightly embarrassed on Severus’ part, but definitely amused on Narcissa’s who was very much aware on the effect she had on men. She let him stew a little, then changed the subject.

“Abelard Ainsworth.”

He looked up with instant relief. “Yes?”

“I did as you asked.”

“Any word?”

“A lead. No more. – What do you want with him?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard about the satyr infestation?”

“Sure. It was all over the _Prophet_. Only last weekend they reported on another attack. – You think old Ainsworth has something to do with it?”

“I don’t know yet and this is why I don’t want to say any more. But I definitely need to find him and talk to him.”

Narcissa made a face. “You know, I’ve heard rumours that Ainsworth has gone off his rocker. Azkaban.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. However, he is obviously sane enough to hide himself away quite successfully.”

“I know of his reputation. He used to like to play God, didn’t he?”

Snape nodded and let Narcissa put two and two together.

“You don’t think he _made_ them? The satyrs?”

“It crossed my mind”, he replied with a secretive smile that told her that he didn’t wish to divulge any more.

Another silence ensued, then her face changed again to become radiant, a little mischievous even. “Some pretty student you have there. How very clever of you to have found her.”

He shot her a stern look. “I don’t know what you’re thinking or what Draco has told you …”

Narcissa waved an impatient hand, her eyes sparkling. “I have eyes in my head, so there’s no need for excuses.”

“It’s not an excuse, it’s just …”

“I know!” She laughed her enchanting laugh, tilting back her head. “No need to explain. I only wanted to say that I’m glad for you, that’s all.”

For a few seconds, Severus looked as if he wanted to say something, his mouth slightly open, his brows knit. Eventually, however, he merely exhaled, let his shoulders sink and shut his mouth. It was his way of saying ‘Think what you want’. And that was precisely what Narcissa Malfoy did.

* * *

 

In the meantime, Draco Malfoy was playing the role of tour guide with endearing enthusiasm. It was obvious that he was proud of his home, maybe even more so since he didn’t live here anymore. He didn’t spare Elena any details, showed her the gallery with its suits of armour, the lavishly furnished bedrooms and salons, explained the portraits of pale-blond ancestors hanging on the walls and threw in bits of Malfoy history. Elena couldn’t help smiling, although she was not quite as thrilled as she pretended to be. However, she also realized that her opinion mattered to Draco somehow and considering their uneasy start, this was a marked improvement. So she nodded and commented politely, sometimes even with warmth, which made Draco come up with ever more details to present her with.

At the beginning of the tour, Elena had several times looked over her shoulder, waiting for Severus and Narcissa to follow them. Of course, they had never come. Instead, Draco had picked up on her apprehension.

“Let them be”, he had said to her, “they haven’t spoken in a long time and have things to catch up on.”

She had accepted the explanation, however, something had continued to irk her. “So you’ve told your mother everything? About what we’re doing? Order business?”

A look of uncertainty had briefly crossed Draco’s face. “I told you not worry about that. My mother can be trusted.”

She had raised a stern eyebrow at that.

“Believe me”, Draco had gone on to put her at ease, “she has learned a lesson or two, as have I. In addition to that, she’d never cross Snape. To her, he’s a saint.”

“If you say so …”

“Come on. There’s something I wanted to show you …”

To her surprise, he had grabbed her hand and dragged her along a sinister hallway on the second floor. Playing girlfriend and boyfriend had the effect of an increased familiarity. Elena wasn’t quite sure whether she liked it or not.

“You see, I’ve been remembering that you asked for a … what did you call it? … a ‘Who Is Who’ of the wizarding world? – Well, I might have just the thing …”

Suddenly intrigued, Elena had followed him to a mahogany double door. Draco had it fly open with a determined _Alohomora_ to reveal a substantial library with bookcases lining all four walls and reaching up to the high ceiling. To Elena, any library was an enchanted place and so she entered reverently, taking in the shelves stuffed with books. However, it was a glass display in the middle of the room that Draco pointed at. It contained a very large and voluminous book that lay there, face open. The left page was half covered in elegant handwriting, the right one was completely blank.

“What is this?”

Draco cleared his throat. “One of my ancestors – a distant great uncle of my father’s, I believe – was a historian. He made that book.”

“Wrote it, you mean.”

“I guess he wrote some of it, but most of all he jinxed it. It’s a book on the history of wizarding families, and it writes itself.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “Seriously?”

“Whatever information you may need on anyone in the wizarding world, you will find it in here.” Draco produced a golden key and went on to open the glass display. Then he shot her a slightly sheepish look. “You may object to the tone, though.”

She understood only after a few seconds. “Oh, I see. Your great uncle was a blood supremacist and this book reflects his world view.”

“Um … yeah.”

“So I won’t find any Muggle-born wizards in there?”

“You may find their names, but the article going with it will probably not be very enlightening.”

Elena put it to the test right away, turning the pages with careful hands and looking up Hermione Granger.

 _Hermione Jean Granger_ , the article said, _*19.09.1979, Muggle-born witch, member of the so-called ‘Golden’ trio. Known as nerd and smart-arse._

In spite of herself, Elena blurted out with laughter. Draco grinned a little self-consciously at first, then joined in.

“I’d better not look up myself.”

“I doubt you’d be in there. You’re not even British.”

He turned out to be right; his great-great uncle’s book had either not taken notice of her existence or was of the opinion that she didn’t deserve a mention. She didn’t care, however, as she immediately saw the merit of the book and started to frantically leave through it, searching for the Crowleys. Aeneas Crowley was easy to find, the article on him huge, detailing the stations of his career and even offering a detailed family tree. Elena made herself remember the most important dates, but she searched in vain for any information on Magrathea Crowley. In fact, she was only mentioned once in connection with Aeneas, namely in the family tree where beside his name and the familiar symbols of the two rings that signified marriage, she was simply rendered as _Magrathea_. No birth date, no maiden name. Elena pointed this out to Draco who frowned.

“That’s strange”, he admitted, “normally you would find much more information on spouses of pure-blood wizards …”

“Maybe she’s a Muggle-born?” Elena suggested, though doubtful.

Draco shook his head determinedly. “She’s Barnabas Cuffe’s daughter, isn’t she? The Cuffes are pure-bloods, so she must be in here.”

“Let’s look up the Cuffes, then.”

With flying fingers, Elena leaved again until she found the article on the Cuffe family. Barnabas Cuffe had got a generous one, being an important figure in the wizarding world as the owner of the _Daily Prophet_. His family tree was depicted with the same amount of detail as had been the case with Aeneas Crowley.

“There!” Draco put his finger on the page.

Elena looked, and there it was: Magrathea Cuffe, daughter of Barnabas Cuffe. However, what was written beneath it made her inhale sharply: _*13.04.1953, + 11.11.1956_. She and Draco exchanged looks, then went on to find the article on Magrathea Cuffe. It was very brief, only mentioning that Magrathea Cuffe, only daughter of Barnabas Cuffe, had tragically drowned in infancy.

“It must be a mistake”, Elena murmured.

“My father says the book doesn’t make any mistakes”, Draco held against, but he seemed uncertain.

“It _must_ have”, Elena objected, “we know that Magrathea Crowley is very much alive, and the daughter of Barnabas Cuffe. Plus, the birth date seems right, too. From the way she looks, she must be in her forties. It fits.”

Confused, she looked over the Cuffe family tree again. According to it, Barnabas Cuffe didn’t have any other daughters, only sons. He _did_ have a sister, by the name of Dorothea, but she was born in the early 1930s which didn’t fit at all, apart from being the wrong name.

“Well, I guess this book is not as great as my father claims”, Draco said with a sneer on his handsome face. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

A smile ran away from Elena’s face. She had a peculiar feeling inside her guts, but couldn’t nail it down. On top of that, she was a little disappointed, and yet still fascinated by this very special history book. She found that she couldn’t resist turning its pages some more. Draco watched her, then guessed what she was looking for and grinned. “Snooping a little, are we?”

She gave him a wicked smile. “I’m a spy now, am I not? So I might as well …”

Of course, she hadn’t been able to resist looking up Snape’s family. It invariably led her to an entry on the Princes, which was quite substantial. Within minutes, she learnt more about Severus’ ancestors than he would ever have told her on his own free will. They were part English, part Irish, from county Sligo. Elena found this faintly amusing, as the stereotypical image she had on the Irish of merrily carousing people was not easily brought into accord with Severus Snape and his drawling English accent; but then again, it might be where his capacity for drink came from. The Prince family had also produced a number of notable potioneers, particularly one by the name of Severus Alixus Prince, a great-grandfather of her surly teacher (or ex-teacher, to be precise). The article on Severus Snape himself was substantial, and while she read it, Elena noticed the changing tone. At first he was praised as unusually smart, equipped with all the characteristics of a true wizard and destined for great things. Only towards the end of the description did terms such as ‘turncoat’, ‘abominable’ or ‘blood traitor’ start to surface. Apart from that, the major events of his life were rendered correctly, although there was not a single mention of Lily Potter. Obviously, the sentient history book had been too embarrassed of a wizard turning against his kind for a mere Muggle-born to mention her.

Finally, she looked up Eileen Snape, née Prince, born on 28th October 1930, Hogwarts student from 1941 to 1948, and during that time captain of the Hogwarts Gobstones Team and president of the Hogwarts Gobstones Club. There was also a mention of her talents as a potion maker and, of course, of her marriage to a Muggle by the name of Tobias Snape, which had subsequently led to her being disinherited by her family (the tone of the book conveyed approval and sympathy with her parents’ chagrin) and shunned by her relatives.

All in all, there was nothing really new. Of course, there were the gobstones again, but Elena already knew from Finn McVey that Eileen Snape had been an accomplished player. Again, Elena thought of Magrathea Crowley and her very special set of gobstones, as well as of McVey’s suspicion that Eileen might have the missing red stone. Something was growling inside of her guts, put she couldn’t put a finger to it. In fact, she felt as if a revelation was imminent, but couldn’t come through a thick, obscuring fog. Eventually, she shook herself and signalled to Draco that she was finished with the book and ready to go.

“Interesting thing, though”, she remarked to him as they left the library. “Your great uncle must have been a stickler for details.”

“Aren’t most historians?” Draco wrinkled his nose a bit. “No profession for me, I can tell you that. I don’t understand obsession with history, anyway, since it’s constantly rewritten, anyway.”

Elena smiled. She could imagine what he was alluding to. The history he’d been taught all his life was being rewritten as they spoke. Closing up to his side, she looked up and down the hallway, hoping to find Severus and Narcissa. However, there was no trace of them. Draco picked up on her disappointment and made an indulging face.

“Like I said, they’ve a lot to talk, so don’t …” He broke off.

Elena looked up curiously and followed his pale grey eyes. They were on the nearby staircase leading up to the next floor. On top of the staircase stood the figure of a man, completely still. It was quite a ghostly appearance, yet, this was no spectre but a man made of flesh and blood. Elena found his age difficult to tell, but he had long pale-blond hair, an immovable face and red-rimmed eyes with dark shadows beneath them. He stared at them, but gave no sign of recognition, no sign even of interest. Realizing that this could be none other than Malfoy senior, Elena went into one of her confused little curtseys. She felt Draco beside her stiffen, and then he put his hand to her elbow.

“Let’s go”, he murmured and led her away, towards the gallery and the wide staircase that would bring them back to the hall. Elena followed, but couldn’t help looking over her shoulder repeatedly until the still figure was out of view.

“Was that …?”

“My sorry father, yes.”

Elena glanced sideways at Draco. His face was suddenly stony, a marked sneer around his mouth. “You’re angry at him”, she stated.

“How could I not? You saw him. Acts like he’s a goddamn walking corpse.” The words were spat out in disgust.

Elena didn’t reply. It was difficult to express what was on her mind, and to Draco of all people.

“You should have seen him a few years ago”, Draco went on in a cold voice. “He used to be an impressive man. Knew what he wanted, what to do. – Now he’s just a wimp.”

He wasn’t just angry, Elena realized. Most of all, he was disappointed. She took courage from that.

“Honestly”, she started, “to me he looked depressed.”

“ _What_??”

“You heard me. He looks like someone with a really bad case of depression.”

Draco frowned. “Are you saying he’s _mad_?”

Elena scoffed. “That’s the same thing to you wizards, isn’t it? Anything that’s beside standard mentally you’ll file under either madness or idiocy!”

He looked at her in surprise because her voice had become fierce. He had no idea that she’d been reminded of Stephen Periwinkle.

“I’m just saying that my father should buck up”, he growled.

“A person who’s depressed can’t just ‘buck up’”, she started lecturing him, “a person who’s depressed needs someone to talk to, someone who’ll …”

“He has my mother! Should be enough, don’t you think?”

Elena realized how Draco became ever angrier, but decided to ignore it. “This is not a joke, Draco! This can be dangerous. He might get suicidal, he might …”

“Come off it!” His eyes flashed at her. “This is family business! Take your Muggle ideas elsewhere!” He increased his pace to get a few steps ahead of her.

‘Wow’, she thought, ‘I hit a nest of wasps.’

It was obvious that saying more would have no effect on Draco, so she quietly followed him down the stairs, making a mental note to mention what she had seen to Severus instead. At the same time, she sympathized with the young wizard. Hearing things such as she had just said about someone you – how ever grudgingly – cared for was difficult. And as it turned out, Draco’s anger only lasted until they had reached the bottom of the staircase. He turned around to her then, looking slightly sheepish, and began telling her a joke he’d recently heard from a friend. It was a wizarding joke, so he had to tell it twice until she understood and it helped her to forget the ghostly encounter.

When they arrived in the salon, everything was well again.

* * *

 _Stay tuned for the next chapter, entitled "Pillow Talk" … ;-)_  

 


	23. Pillow Talk

**Pillow Talk**

 

Severus Snape’s world was swaying. The elegant salon around him, its Versailles-styles furniture and the large blue eyes on the face of the woman in front of him – all of it bathed in an enchanting haze, swinging back and fro. Damn it, he shouldn’t have gone at the wine like that, the elven-made was stronger than the Muggle variety, he should have known. Nevertheless, he found his present state faintly pleasant, soothing even. Plus, it complemented his original mood which, right from the get-go, had been swaying as well, changing between extremes. He’d wanted to come to Malfoy Manor because he’d always been welcome in this place; but there was, of course, the memory of recent years, specifically the night Charity Burbage had met her demise. All during dinner, flashes of her suspended above the table, moaning, pleading, and finally the shape of the gigantic snake slithering over the table’s surface to claim its dinner had come back to him, and those images were now inextricably linked to everything that had happened to him here before, in a life that now seemed decades away. In this very salon he’d often sat with Lucius, comfortable in front of the fireplace, talking and, yes, drinking. Maybe that was the reason he’d overdone it, some perverted form of nostalgia. But he couldn’t be sure and didn’t matter much, anyway.

He hadn’t missed Lucius tonight, though. His erstwhile friend appeared to live in a world of his own right now, one of indignation and self-pity. Severus was happy with him staying there, felt no guilt towards the man. He acknowledged that he had tricked Lucius, lied to him on numerous occasions. It had been inevitable. And while Lucius apparently failed to see that, Narcissa didn’t, and that was an immense relief to Severus.

He had always liked her, to the limited extent he allowed himself to develop affection for anyone. Narcissa had been a good influence on Lucius, had turned a vain and wayward young wizard into a faithful husband, loving father and a better friend; for that he respected her. Severus was aware that Narcissa had always liked him, too – it was the reason why she had come to him when she couldn’t stand the worry over Draco any longer – although before the Unbreakable Vow, their relationship had been one of friendly distance. After that, of course, there had been her _offer_. He had turned it down, of course, he wasn’t that kind of man, would never even think of touching a friend’s wife, no matter how strong the temptation. At the time, Severus had told himself that it had been no more than an act of desperation on her part because she’d felt deeply indebted to him. Now, however, he knew that it hadn’t been like that, or not entirely. She’d turned the incident into a compliment and it had the effect of him warming to her even more. The embarrassment had ebbed away. He was also strangely turned on, not by Narcissa herself so much but by the underlying sexual tension her admission – that she would have wanted to, that she wouldn’t merely have suffered it – had triggered. So in a different life, perhaps, they might have had _a thing_. Only a year ago, he would have dismissed such thoughts as insignificant vanity. Now that he knew what could happen between a woman and a man, it gave him a pleasant shiver. He felt impressive, _manly_ , even. And he was drunk. He might have laughed.

Anyway, it was all a nice break from the week he’d had. His Hogwarts duties were particularly bothersome these days, what with being obliged to patrol the Forbidden Forest every other night in search for prowling satyrs and teaching the tykes how to protect themselves (which, in his view, they didn’t take nearly as seriously as they should have). In addition, any attempts of him and Hermione Granger in taking a crack at the encrypted papers found in Leshnikov’s car had been futile. The code was more complex than he’d expected and he hated nothing more than a dead end. Plus, his search for Abelard Ainsworth had gone nowhere. The Dementors appeared to have left him with enough brain to go underground and until the pointer Narcissa had just given him, he’d been without any substantial lead.

Apart from all this, there was the worry for Elena. During the day, he tried to suppress it; but by the evening he found that he couldn’t find any rest until he saw that Chinese lampion lit in her window. Every day upon finishing his duties, he went faithfully back to Spinner’s End, endured his mother’s nagging questions and cutting remarks; in actual fact, he didn’t even hear them because he constantly found himself wondering what he would to if one day the lampion wasn’t lit. What indeed? He wouldn’t even know where to find her! Somehow he had to find a way around the curse that had been put on her, but as of yet he had no idea how to do that and it irritated him to no end. However, it also made him all the more grateful for the Malfoys’ interest and support, specifically Draco’s who was all set on helping and getting involved. Severus knew, however, that until this happened, peace of mind would be hard to come by.

As if on cue, the salon doors sprang open and Draco barged in with Elena in tow. Through the blur in his mind, Severus noted their happy laughing faces. Draco had a marked swagger, it was obvious that he felt important in the role of Lord of the Manor. In addition to that, the boy demonstrated a certain, though probably unconscious, possessiveness towards Elena, felt _in charge of her_ somehow. And while Snape realized that he had no reason to resent that – he had, after all, created the situation – he found that he did. His drunken mood swung once more and he couldn’t help glowering at Draco a little. However, the young wizard seemed completely oblivious of it while was regaling his guests with some story or other that completely escaped Snape’s impaired attention.

With the outside world out of step, Severus found it soothing to rest his eyes on Elena. She’d been smiling when coming in, but now she stared ahead of herself, looking pensive. He allowed himself to wonder what was going on in her mind, and before long, she noticed his gaze and returned it slightly self-consciously.

With interest, Snape observed how the sexual tension in the room somehow attached itself to her. Elena’s cheeks were flushed which made the green of her eyes come out. In her snug black dress, she was all sweet curves, body and face. He was unable to look away. Again, memories surfaced in his mind, but entirely different ones this time. And as if she was able to read them, her blush deepened while a very fine smile appeared on her lips. Immediately, he felt his own mouth jerk into a grin, it was quite beyond his control. Bloody alcohol! It made those facial muscles so damn hard to control …

He heard Narcissa’s voice engaging Elena into a conversation; the sounds reached him, but not the meaning. He was, however, acutely aware of a spell in the room which had, of that Severus was certain, little to do with magic. He saw how the Lady of the Manor was being gracious and did her utmost not to let her young guest feel anything about her true feelings towards Muggle-borns (because no matter how much of an effort Narcissa Malfoy might recently have been making, she certainly wasn’t able to blow over all her innate stereotypes within a few months). And while he was grateful to her for such efforts, he suddenly became acutely aware of how much Elena must feel like an outsider. He’d had that realization earlier tonight, during dinner, when she had told the story of her week at the academy. Quite out of the blue, it had occurred to him that whatever he knew about her was invariably linked to himself. When they talked, it was always about him, about his world and the problems he faced in it. He only knew about her life in so far as it related to his. The mention of her parents earlier in the evening had driven that point home. He knew nothing about these people apart from what Elena had volunteered. If truth be told, he hadn’t been interested – they were clearly Muggles and thus beyond his comprehension, anyway. However, Muggles or not, they were part of her life, her other existence that she’d left behind in Austria and about which he’d never asked her.

Suddenly, he felt distinctly ashamed. Dumbledore had sometimes accused him of egotism, of seeing and serving only himself. The old man had been right. From the moment he’d met her, he’d claimed Elena for himself, using magic and teaching as an excuse to make her his creature, much as he’d done with Lily. And just like, in his younger years, he had never cared much about what Lily wanted, what Lily hoped and dreamed of (because he’d been to full of what _he_ wanted, hoped and dreamed of, and most of all with impressing her somehow), he was willing Elena to want what _he_ wanted, to participate in _his_ world, to be available to _him_.

Severus caught himself wondering whether this was the reason why Elena did what she did. Going into that Academy all by herself, although the potential for danger was certainly there and her magical powers shaky. Was she trying to impress him? Was she trying to make him _see_ her?

“Severus? Are you still with us?”

Narcissa’s blue eyes sparkled as she gave him an amused smile. Draco, too, looked curious. Obviously, Snape had missed a few beats.

“It’s alright”, he murmured, slurring a little. “I was just thinking that we mustn’t impose on your hospitality any longer …”

“Oh, but you’re not going home tonight, are you?”

“It’s quite late, Narcissa, we have to …”

“Severus Snape, there’s no way I’m letting you ride a broom in your present state! And certainly not with your lovely friend here, all kinds of things might happen …”

“Ah, I’m certain we’ll be perfectly safe …”

“No, I’d never forgive myself! Plus, I’ve told the house-elves half an hour ago to prepare a guestroom. You’ll stay here, and tomorrow we’ll have breakfast together.”

“Do her the favour, please”, murmured Draco out of the corner of his mouth. “She can’t bear being alone …”

“Draco!”

“You’re being very kind, Madam Malfoy”, Elena ventured sweetly, “but …”

“Thank you, dear!” Narcissa broke in energetically, taking Elena’s arm once more. “At least one of you is sensible! And you’ll see, I had our best bedroom prepared, it’s all in Tudor style and I’m sure you’ll love it.”

Elena’s eyes widened a little. She looked shyly back and forth between her hostess and Snape. Severus followed the exchange with distant interest, but it was as if he wasn’t quite there, as if he was experiencing a dream that he could not influence and didn’t really want to wake up from. He followed the two women as if in a daze, out of the salon, up the stairs, and felt like walking the planks of a rolling ship. Draco’s “Good night”, rendered with a grin, he noted only at the periphery of his mind and replied with a distracted nod.

A short while later, he found himself on the gallery where Narcissa opened a door and gestured for them to enter. The room was lavishly furnished in polished dark wood, thick carpets and tapestries in rich colours. A four-poster bed dominated the room, the cover folded back, looking inviting. Severus noted that this was very clearly a double room; however, he wasn’t capable of more than aloof amusement and certainly not in the mood to object.

Narcissa’s eyes were dancing again almost fiendishly as she explained where her guests would find everything they needed and then wished them sweet dreams in a suggestive purr. The door closed behind her and they were alone. Elena stood still and watched Snape. She seemed confused. He chuckled to himself with a little shake of the head, then glided over to the bed and threw himself onto it, not even bothering to take of his shoes, folding his arms behind his head.

Elena cleared her throat. She was still standing by the door, not sure what to do with herself, watching him apprehensively.

“She seems to think that we …”, she started, then broke off.

“I’m sure she does”, he said, and again the words came out in a lazy slur. “Does it bother you?”

She stared, then her mouth twitched. “No, it doesn’t”, she said pointedly, “but I thought it might bother _you_.”

“No. I’m beyond caring.” He stretched, yawned.

Elena continued to watch him for a while, then, slowly, she came over to the other side of the bed. Carefully, she sat down on the edge. Her eyes sought his, and she looked a little suspicious, which Severus noted with amusement. He didn’t blame her, though, since being wary of a drunk wizard in a roguish mood was certainly commendable. At the same time, he wondered what precisely she was thinking, and again it occurred to him that he knew nothing about her, least of all what was going on in her mind. His eyelids were heavy, his body swaying in spite of his supine position, but he couldn’t give in to his urge to rest. Wondering about her was far more intriguing.

“Did you like it?” he asked a little labouredly to initiate a conversation.

She smiled tentatively. “She’s very kind. Narcissa. It was surely … interesting.”

He chuckled at the diplomatic reply. “You seem to be getting on much better with Draco.”

“I do”, she acknowledged. “I can see that he’s … on his best behaviour.”

He understood what she was trying to say. People had been nice to her, she was aware of it. Yet, she knew that it was politeness, and that they treated her that way because she was with him. It hadn’t alleviated the feeling that she didn’t belong here and, as a Muggle-born, probably never would. A shadow fell over her face. She looked at the duvet cover, tracing the intricate embroidery with her index finger. The sight of her doing that reminded Severus of how the touch of her fingers felt, on his chest, his neck, his face …

He struggled hard for something to say. Couldn’t come up with anything. At the same time, he wanted her to talk to him, but she was lost in thought. He had to pick up the thread again somehow, but looking at her – the flushed cheeks, the slightly sad eyes, the plunging neckline that exposed the top of her breasts – took up all his attention.

He heard himself say, “You’re looking beautiful.”

In the next moment, he couldn’t believe he’d just said that. Maybe a figment of his drunk imagination? But no, the way she looked up and smiled at him radiantly was quite unmistakable.

“Is that why you went at the wine so hard, to make yourself tell me this?” she asked with a friendly twinkle in her eyes.

“Are you doubting my courage?” he shot back lazily.

“No, I wouldn’t dare”, she said with an evil grin, “but I’ve been asking myself why you were so keen on shooting yourself down like that. – Is it because of Lucius?”

“Lucius wasn’t there. So why would he bother me?”

“Because he clearly didn’t want to meet you.”

“Lucius is living in his own world. I cannot reach him there.”

She frowned. “Maybe you shouldn’t give up on him so easily. He’s your friend.”

“I’m not giving up. I’m waiting.”

He then went on to tell her what had bothered him during dinner. Charity Burbage. Elena listened, her face serious.

“It must have been hard for you, making it through the evening”, she remarked quietly when he had finished.

Severus shook his head. “I wanted to come.”

“In spite of what happened here?”

“This has always been a good place for me. Before that … incident. I guess I wanted to …” he stopped, looking for the right word.

“Reconnect”, she suggested. “Annihilate the memory of that … other thing.”

“If you will.”

“Surely, you wanted to reunite with Narcissa, as well”, she stated, seemingly lightly, “you haven’t seen each other in a long time. And I could see that you two were thick as thieves.”

Severus noted the edge in her voice only at the last moment, and it made him sit up. He felt a grin on his face. “You’re jealous”, he stated, but inwardly wondered whether she had picked up something.

Elena didn’t deny the jealousy reproach, but lifted her chin. “Why not? She’s beautiful.”

“She’s my friend’s wife.”

Her face changed suddenly. “I saw him.”

“Who?”

“Lucius. On the stairs.”

“Oh.”

“He is … he didn’t look too good.”

“I can imagine.”

“No, you don’t understand. I think he’s … in a very bad way. Depressed. Not just blue or frustrated, I think it’s … serious.”

He sighed. “I understand that the modern Muggle tends to view that kind of self-indulgence as a disease, though it is my belief…”

Elena interrupted him sharply. “And _I_ understand that you wizards tend to dismiss such problems as self-pity, though it is _my_ belief that you all don’t have a clue! Your friend might need help. I told Draco this, but … well, I guess he’s just a wizard who can’t get out of his limited world-view!”

By the end of her little speech, she looked quite angry. He studied her face, marvelling at how many of her thoughts she put into the well-being of others. Lily had been like that, ever empathic, and he had mostly dismissed it, unable to understand why she bothered. Again, he thought about his own egotism. In a few slurred words, he assured Elena that he would keep what she had said in mind. It calmed her a little, and once more Severus found himself struggling for words. He needed to keep on talking to her. At the same time, he didn’t want to talk about himself or his world again.

“Your parents”, he started hesitantly, “are you going to tell them?”

The sudden change of subject brought surprise to her face. It was obvious that she hadn’t expected him to care. “I’ll have to”, she replied, “and soon.”

“Yes?”

“Yeah. I’m going home for Christmas.”

He’d been prepared to sink back into the pillows again, but didn’t, suddenly tense. “You will? What about the academy?”

“They’re closing for the Christmas holidays. Plus, I haven’t been in Austria for almost a year. There’s no way I can get out of it.”

He didn’t like it one bit. In fact – and quite to his surprise – he felt an abyss opening up. “For how long?”

“Two to three weeks.”

Severus stifled a moan. Part of him wanted to berate her, say that she couldn’t just take off with what was going on right now, the Order, the Crowley Academy and what not. The other part, however, saw clearly how he was only thinking about himself again. He swallowed the words that were on the tip of his tongue. “How do you think are they going to react?”

Elena scoffed. “My father will hate it. He’ll find a way to turn it around on me, to say that I didn’t resist it enough, that I’ve made myself into a complete freak …”

“Is he going to hurt you?” he asked with genuine concern.

She waved it away. “No, not that …”

“Because you told me once …”

“That was when I was younger. He stopped beating me when I was around eleven or twelve. After I had learnt controlling it.”

Severus tried to imagine it. What would it have been like if his parents had both been Muggles and he would have had to suppress his magic even more, without the opportunity of practicing it with his mother’s help? How would his life have been? “What about your mother?” he asked.

“She’ll be alright. She may not admit it, but she knows that magic exists. I think that whatever powers I have come through her family, and in a twisted way she knows that, even if she’ll never admit to it. – However, she will feel that she is going to have to side with my father. After all, she has to live with him somehow.”

“So … you’re alone in this”, he stated, feeling a distinct pain for her that he could not express in words.

Elena smiled, made light of it. “I’m used to being alone when I’m with them”, she said simply.

“You shouldn’t have to feel like that”, he growled awkwardly.

“You did, too”, she said ruefully. “Even worse, from what I know.”

He thought about it. Had it really been worse? After all, he’d had his mother, no matter how much she’d been caught up in her own problems, no matter how much she’d at times neglected him. She’d still been like him, and in that she’d been his companion.

“I don’t know about that”, he said quietly. “You know, looking back I think that the beatings weren’t the worst part. It was the feeling of doing something wrong. Of _being_ wrong.”

She nodded, knowing exactly what he was talking about. “That’s what makes it difficult for me to go there. Right now, I feel fine the way I am, because here it all makes sense. – There, in Vienna, it is like I get caught up in old patterns. And it always makes me feel like I’m fourteen again. Like a misfit, having to tread lightly.” Her eyes were once more on the duvet cover. “I don’t want to feel like that anymore.”

He processed this and felt relief. Here, at last, was the confirmation that her life was better now, made more sense since she had started practicing magic. Again, it took him some moments to find the right thing to say and he worded it carefully. “It has helped me – sometimes, anyway – to take a step out of my situation and view it like an outsider. To remind myself that my parents … and maybe yours, too … were … _are_ … just two unhappy flawed people who decided at some point to be unhappy together. Then there was a child, the unwitting result. A child can’t help being born, can it, and someone _has_ to be that child. So it happened to be you. Or me. That’s no reason for us to take our parents personally. Of course, as a child you don’t know that. But as an adult you can look at your father and tell yourself ‘This man is afraid of me’, and he only tries to desperately control what’s been far out of his reach for a long time. It’s a futile attempt, so why not take pity on him?”

She said nothing, but stared at him, obviously astonished.

Severus coughed. “I don’t mean to say that I always manage, but …”

“I understand”, she assured him and smiled, “I just didn’t know you were such a good psychologist.”

He sneered a little. “Very funny!”

“I mean it! What you said was … wise.”

He shrugged. “Constantly blundering around in other people’s minds teaches you a thing or two. One of it is that people are invested in their own hopes and fears most of the time. If they hurt or disregard others in the process, it’s mostly unintentional.”

Severus felt a little like a hypocrite, telling her not to take others’ disregard personally, when he’d done just that all his life. However, his words did the trick. She looked at him affectionately, suddenly seeming much happier. With a swift movement, she got up from the bed. The suddenness of it threw him, his drunken mind too slow to follow such spontaneous changes easily. “What’s wrong?” he demanded irritably.

“Nothing. I’m going to get undressed and into bed.”

Suddenly he felt reckless. “Do you want me to avert my eyes?” he drawled.

The look she gave him was sly, daring him. “There’s nothing you haven’t already seen, so I’ll leave it up to you.”

The cheekiness of the remark made him a little speechless. With narrowed eyes, he watched as she stepped away from the bed and turned her back to him. Her hands reached behind her back, gripped the mane of light-brown hair that had a fiery glow in the weak light from a number of candles floating in the room. She gathered her hair over the right shoulder, exposing a delicate long white neck. He saw her arms reaching up, her fingers probing. And in the next moment, he heard the sensuous noise of an opening zip …

 

* * *

 

Elena’s heart was beating; madly, actually. Here she was, with him, in a double room with a double bed, and it had happened so quickly and naturally as if in a dream (bless Narcissa Malfoy, pompous cow or not, right now Elena could have lit a candle for her). Plus, he was in one of those rare moods – bless alcohol, too – in which his usual impassive mask was slipping a little, when he was inclined to expose a fraction of what lay beneath, and she knew that she had to handle it as carefully as a basket of freshly laid eggs.

Maybe undressing in front of him was too obvious, too clumsy. Then again, if they were going to spend the night in this room, she had to undress at some point. She commanded herself not to think too much about it and undid the zip, her back turned to him, and pulled the dress off her shoulders. It sank to the floor with a luxurious rustle and she stepped out of it, arranging Cassie’s gown (“Be careful with it! It’s my lucky dress!” she’d said when giving it to her) on an armchair. Elena slipped out of her high-heeled shoes, then put one leg after another on the edge of the armchair and brushed off her stockings, taking her time. All the time, she felt his eyes burning holes into her back. Or rather, she imagined, no, she _wished_ that his eyes were doing just that. Probably, he had really ‘averted his eyes’, as advertised, determined not to allow himself any weakness.

Elena hesitated a little. She was now only in her underwear and a little slip dress. Her fingers were shaking. She wasn’t sure whether what she was doing was foolish, a stupid girlish attempt at seduction. But damn it, it was the best she could come up with! So she reached behind her back once more, found the clasp of her brassiere under the slip dress and pulled out the sophisticated black-laced item from under it.

Then, slowly, she turned around.

Looked up.

His eyes were on her.

Black, unwavering, taking her in.

In fact, there was a brazenness in the way he looked at her that made her brows jump.

He noticed it and returned her gaze with a roguish gleam in his eyes. “It was awfully dark in that lighthouse”, he said matter-of-factly.

It made her laugh. Which, in turn, made him grin. The ice was broken.

With a sigh of relief, she lifted the duvet cover, then the duvet and slipped into bed.

His eyes – the blackest eyes she had ever seen – followed her every movement. They were a little glassy, mesmerized. There was a quirk around his mouth as if he was on the verge of allowing himself a little lecherous smile, but of course he controlled his facial muscles quickly enough. Yet, Elena had seen it. Her spine was tingling as she edged closer to him. His thin frame was once more stretched out, fully clothed in a fine suit, and there was something about the way he lay there that was surprisingly sensuous. He had one hand behind his head, the other rested on his flat belly, with flexing fingers. His eyes were quite still, on her face, but when she came nearer, they slipped down to her lace-enveloped breasts. His mouth opened slightly, his chest rose and fell, and then he sighed quietly and closed his eyes. She was now close enough to touch him, and she forced herself not to shake or to hesitate as she put her hand on his chest.

His eyes flew open.

“Don’t”, he said. But there was a small smile around the corners of his mouth.

She peered at him innocently. “Why?”

“It wouldn’t be fair”, he explained, his voice no more than a whisper, “I’m inebriated.”

“ _What??_ ” And when she saw that he didn’t understand, she repeated, “You’re _what_?”

“Inebriated. Under the influence.”

“Inebriated … in- _eeebriated_ …” Giggling, she repeated the word a few times, said it in an exaggerated American accent and then in a deliberately strong Austrian one. Snape observed her fascination with the new word with amusement.

“What’s so bad about being _inebriated_?” she asked eventually, her eyes dancing.

“Makes it difficult to resist”, he slurred.

The green eyes caressed his face. “Why would you want to resist?”

“You asked me not to play with you”, he said, attempting rational argument.

“You can play with me a little”, she whispered.

The smile fell from his face. She could hear him breathing. The black irises seemed to liquefy, became soft. Elena felt the warmth emanating from his body, felt his desire so palpable she could almost touch it.

His fingers touched her upper arm, so lightly it made a shiver run from the nape of her neck all down to the bottom of her spine. Then, she felt his grip and very gently, he pushed her away. “I might regret it tomorrow. So might you.”

In spite of his gentleness, she saw that what he’d said was – at least for the moment – final, and she issued a huge sigh before she edged away from him, rested her head on the soft plump cushion and looked up at him, once more with mischief in her eyes. Her hand, however, remained on his chest. He made no attempt to push it away. And after a while, he very lightly put his hand over hers and continued to look at her in a hard-to-read way that was both amused and guarded. Elena guessed that he was looking for a change of subject and decided to help him.

“Have you had a chance to look at those encrypted papers we found in Leshnikov’s car?”

It was enough to irritate him. “Don’t remind me. It’s a mess.”

“A mess how?”

“Couldn’t break it. Not yet, anyway. I’m usually good at this kind of stuff, but those papers …”

“Didn’t you ask Hermione for help?”

“I did, and she was eager. However, though she may be a know-it-all and has in the past proven her talent for solving riddles, this one appears to be over her head, as well.”

“Maybe …”, Elena started.

“Yes?”

“No, forget it. Daft idea.”

“Speak”, he demanded.

She sighed. “I didn’t tell you about this yet, but … I might have an ally at the academy.”

He looked sceptical. “Really? Who?”

It took her a few seconds to reply. “Stephen Periwinkle”, she said at last.

“The one who assessed you? Didn’t you say he was mad?”

“I said no such thing!”

He looked at her and detected an angry line on her forehead. “You implied it”, he insisted.

“No, I didn’t! _You_ did!”

“So you don’t agree?”

“He’s not mad. He’s just …”

“Peculiar?” He gave her a sarcastic grin which made Elena glower even more.

“His brain functions differently, I guess.”

“Nice euphemism for madness. Or idiocy.”

“Stop it!” Her flat hand hit the mattress. “You wizards are so limited in your thinking sometimes! You have these concepts of what is ‘normal’ and don’t even care to look beyond that! It’s totally nineteenth century!”

“Alright, alright”, he murmured. “Explain to me then what’s so special about this young man. He appears to have made quite an impression on you.”

Elena relaxed a little, and while her fingers played on his chest she started to tell him in detail about when she’d first met Stephen Periwinkle in Carcass Road, what he’d done and what had been going on between him and his brother.

“When he assessed me”, she explained, “I’m pretty sure he picked up on my prescience.” Immediately, Snape’s face became worried, and Elena went on quickly. “But he didn’t tell. It was … as if he’d seen, too, that I wanted to keep it a secret.”

“Why would he oblige you so?” Severus asked doubtfully.

“Because I was nice to him”, Elena said with conviction. “And Waldemar was being a jerk, constantly berated him and called him an idiot, constantly interrupted Stephen in what he was doing …”

“Ah, I see. So if your Stephen really didn’t tell his brother, it might very well have been out of momentary spite. That doesn’t mean he didn’t tell him later.”

But Elena shook her head. “I’m not sure that Stephen is even capable of spite. Or of lying, for that matter. He didn’t tell Waldemar, I’m sure about it.”

“How _can_ you be sure?”

“I met him. At the academy.”

His eyes asked her quite impetuously to go on, so Elena slid under the cover again, put her face in her other hand and went on to tell Severus about the second encounter she’d had with Stephen Periwinkle only a few days ago.

 

It had been on the Wednesday, the day of the great gathering in the hall and the mutual soul-baring which had worn Elena out much more than she’d been prepared to confess at the Malfoy dinner table. Her heart had been beating after all the things she’d been told – about being weak, inconsequential, possessing no witch charisma at all – and her hands had been sweaty. So when the gathering took a break, she had fled out into the gardens behind Abrasax House, looking for a quiet place to lick her wounds in. The air outside had been cold – a balm for her eyes that were pricking with unshed tears of frustration – but the gardens were bathed in sunlight, making the spot look friendly and welcoming. In a quiet corner, she had found Stephen Periwinkle sitting on a stone bench, a sketchbook on his lap, drawing.

She had seen him the day before, walking the corridors of the academy. Although his nose had been buried in a book, he had still managed to give the people coming from the opposite direction a wide berth. Every fibre of his body had made it very clear that he wished to be left alone, and so Elena hadn’t dared to address him, unsure whether he would even recognize her. In the gardens, however, coming up behind his sitting form on the bench, she had been determined to talk to him. She’d still been trying to find the right words when she’d heard his voice, flat and monotonous. “Hello, Elena Horwath.”

It had almost made her forget the harrowing experience she’d been through, and she had smiled, the tears suddenly forgotten.

“Hello, Stephen Periwinkle!” she’d chimed out brightly.

He had turned over his shoulder then, giving her a stern look. “You are joking”, he’d stated.

“You are right”, she’d replied with a giggle in her voice, and then, pointing to the bench. “May I sit?”

“This bench does not belong to me”, he’d informed her seriously, “I cannot forbid you to sit here.”

“Well, do you _mind_ me sitting here?”

He’d considered it at length, and at last said, “No.”

So Elena had sat down beside him, a couple of feet away because she sensed that he didn’t like physical closeness. Curiously, she had peeked into his sketchbook. He’d been drawing the back of the academy and the gravel path leading up to it through the garden. From what she could see, the proportions and perspective were perfect, cunningly calculated by an observant eye. “Looks good.”

“Yes.”

Not knowing what to say, she’d watched him drawing for a while. “Did you just hear me coming up behind you?” she asked eventually, desperate to start the conversation somehow.

“Evidently”, he replied without looking up.

“I saw you yesterday. On the stairs.”

“I know.”

She nodded, but had no idea how to go on. Maybe talking to him wasn’t such a good plan. It almost gave her a shock when suddenly he spoke.

“This is your first week at the academy”, he said.

Again, it sounded monotonous and not very interested. However, Elena sensed that he was inviting her in his own peculiar way.

“Yes”, she confirmed, “and an interesting week it was.” No reaction. “I didn’t see you at the gathering.”

“I am not allowed to take part in those”, Stephen murmured, working on the shading that a tree cast onto the gravel path.

“Really? Why?”

“My comments went unappreciated.”

She bit her tongue because she found the dead-pan way in which he’d said that faintly amusing. “Did that bother you?” she wanted to know.

“No. I don’t appreciate their comments, either.”

“Yeah”, she sighed, “I probably shouldn’t take them too seriously, either.”

“No”, he said, very dryly.

“I find that difficult, though.”

“Why?”

The question was so simple she found it hard to answer. “You know … it’s disturbing … so many people telling you that you amount to nothing …”

“People talk. They do it all the time.”

“You think I should shut it out?”

“Yes.”

“Well. The problem is, I don’t know how.”

“Why?”

She opened her mouth, struggled.

Stephen had given her a quick and cool side-glance. “You have Occlumency”, he said, “it is no good if you don’t use it.”

It had made her stare. “How do you know?”

Another side-glance, this time a little scornful. “I assessed you.”

“You _saw_?”

He shrugged, attempted the shading from a different angle.

“But … you didn’t tell your brother, did you?” She glared at him anxiously.

“He’s always interrupting”, Stephen Periwinkle replied with an irritated jerk of his brow.

“And that’s why you didn’t tell him about my Occlumency?”

“Not about the Occlumency. Not about other things.”

It had taken her seconds to process this and understand what he meant, but then it had become abundantly clear to her. The prescience. She was now completely sure of what she had already suspected during the assessment. Stephen Periwinkle had seen it all, her entire ‘magical landscape’, so to speak. However, as it seemed, he had only shared a fraction of it.

Elena was at a loss on what to say. She didn’t want to ask why, so as not to question his decision. Nor did she want to ask what exactly he had seen, whether the secret of her dormant divinatory talents was really out of the bag so as not to put him out. “That’s good”, she ventured carefully, “I’d rather that stay a secret.”

“They have a lot of secrets in there”, Stephen said, pointing to the house with his charcoal pencil. “A _lot_ of secrets.”

She’d let that sink in. “So you’re saying … if they have secrets, it won’t hurt if I have a secret?”

“Or I.”

“You have secrets?”

He said nothing, but there was the ghost of a smile around his mouth.

She took a chance. “What secrets?”

“If I told you, they wouldn’t be secrets anymore.”

“Of course.” Elena smiled at him warmly. “But maybe I can guess?”

“You can try.”

“Well, I’m guessing …”, she took a deep breath, “I’m guessing that you’re much smarter than your brother gives you credit for.”

Another almost unnoticeable smile, but no reply.

“I’m guessing even”, Elena went on, emboldened, “that you’re a bit like the Emperor Claudius.”

That got Stephen’s attention and he looked up briefly.

“The Emperor Claudius”, Elena explained, “was very clever. So clever in fact that as a young man he played the fool, made his family believe he was crazy so they didn’t consider him a worthy candidate for the throne and hence didn’t poison him. He became one of the longest-standing emperors in Roman history.”

“I am not going to be an emperor”, Stephen said reasonably.

“But maybe you are going to be a great man.”

Again, a fleeting smile, but no comment. He clearly took his secrets very seriously.

“Why are you here, Stephen Periwinkle?” Elena asked. “In this academy?”

“My father wants me to be here.”

“Why?”

“So I become like the others.”

“The other idiots?” She had winked at him, but he clearly didn’t understand jokes so well.

“And so I’ll be out of his hair.”

“Do you like it here?”

“Not any more than anywhere else.”

Elena understood this to mean that to Stephen all places were equally obnoxious as everywhere he went, people scolded him as a dimwit or idiot. She tried to imagine how lonely his life must be, but found that it was too painful to consider at length. She thought long and hard before she said what she confided to him next. “I don’t like it here, either.”

To her surprise, he’d nodded languidly as if this was already a well-known fact to him.

“However, I’d rather that remain a secret, as well”, Elena had added, trying to establish an eye contact with him. But Stephen didn’t appear to like those, either, and had focussed on his drawing. Again, it had seemed as if he’d forgotten about her, but once more she was surprised because after a while she had heard him murmur very quietly.

“You have a secret, I have a secret. So do _they_.”

The sentence said all and nothing at the same time. Yet, Elena was sure that they had an understanding. He would keep her secret if she kept his. And in keeping each other’s secrets, they would form a clandestine front against _them_ , the academy, the soul-baring idiots. There was an alliance of _We_ against the majority of _Them_. Elena had nothing to add; in fact, she feared that saying anymore might upset her and Stephen’s silent agreement. So she had sat with him a little longer, watched the progress of his drawing and had finally gotten up with a friendly smile.

“Have a good day, Stephen Periwinkle. I’ll see you around.”

He was so engrossed in what he was doing he hadn’t looked up. He might not even have noticed her leaving. By now, however, Elena sensed that Stephen didn’t like to waste unnecessary words, and certainly not on social niceties. To him, everything was clear. So why shouldn’t it be to her?

Elena had rushed back into the house, back to the gathering, which – for the rest of its course – hadn’t bothered her half as much as before.

 

Severus stared up at the wooden beams, digesting her story.

“I don’t know, Elena. I’m afraid that once more you’re being too trusting.”

“ _Once more_?”

He’d frowned at her. “Remember a certain character called Pavel Leshnikov?”

“Oh, come on! You know exactly how good he was, how could I …”

“Calm down!” he demanded impetuously. “It’s alright, I wasn’t reproaching you. – It’s just … your observations on this young man amount to nothing more than feelings on your behalf! You _think_ he hasn’t told anyone. You _believe_ that you’ve come to an understanding with him. But you have no proof! – Moreover, I fail to see what that might have to do with the encrypted papers.”

“Listen, Severus”, Elena said and sat up, “I’ve been doing a little bit of reading. I think what Stephen Periwinkle has … and what makes him the way he is … is a condition called autism.” She saw from his unmoving face that the term meant nothing to him. “It’s a mental condition that may vary greatly in severity, but almost always comes along with a certain social ineptitude. It is difficult for these people to express emotions, or see and interpret it in others.” Elena looked at Snape pointedly because she thought that what she was telling him should ring a bell. However, he looked back at her as if he had no idea what she was playing at. “In some cases”, she went on, “autists can exhibit an extraordinary giftedness in certain isolated fields. I’ve read somewhere that autism borders on geniality, and geniuses tend to border on autism.”

“Ah, I’m beginning to see what you’re getting at. You think that your Stephen Periwinkle, just because of his condition, might be the one who’d crack Leshnikov’s code?”

“Well, I was thinking that for breaking a code, you need a focussed mind, an analytical way of thinking. And Stephen seems to have a knack for, well, _looking into things_. Or people. – Look, it was just an idea, and maybe a daft one; sure I’d have to know him better before I asked him to give it a shot. – But!” she added quickly as Snape was opening his mouth, obviously ready to argue, “ _but_ it is something to be kept in mind. Apart from that, I thought you might be glad to know that there’s someone in the academy who’s on my side.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He more or less promised to keep my secret.”

“He might have lied.”

“I don’t think he’s capable of lying.”

“Yet you’re telling me he lied to his brother.”

“He didn’t tell him. There’s a difference between not telling and lying.”

Snape inhaled deeply and Elena saw that he had a hard time not rolling his eyes. “You know, Elena, when I still did spy work, I almost always found that the best way of dealing with matters is to keep it simple. The more allies you have, the more variables are in the mix, and a lot of variables make for a lot of confusion, risks, incalculable factors …”

“I know what you mean. You may be right, too. But this boy … there’s something about him … he is getting to me.”

“Ah”, said Snape, but nothing more than that. He stared ahead at some elusive spot in the room.

Elena went on emphatically. “I can’t help thinking all the time about how his life must be. To be that lonely, that misunderstood …”

“I may cry”, Severus murmured.

However, Elena was so much in her element she completely missed the strange twitch around his mouth. “Most people just dismiss him because they don’t understand his behaviour and so they don’t take the time to look beyond it. They don’t see that he’s actually brilliant! Muggles call that ‘high-functioning’ …”

“Do they now.”

“Yes, it means that within his personal limits, Stephen has perfectly adapted to his surroundings, and if you consider how difficult it must be for him, it becomes evident how highly intelligent he is …”

“I still think you’re being overly trustful and naïve.”

“Severus, can you just accept it when I say that I have a very good feeling about this?”

“Yeah, you are obviously full to the brim with feeling!!”

Elena stared at him. He’d spat out the words and now stared angrily into a dark corner. Again, she increased the pressure of her hand on his chest, but he jerked his head as if she was an irksome fly and withdrew his own hand.

“Another stray, huh?” he growled.

“I beg your pardon??”

“You like the intelligent lost boys, don’t you, who are _so_ to be pitied because they are _so_ misunderstood. What, are you gonna start a collection??”

Elena realized her mistake. At the same time, she wasn’t exactly sorry, although clearly she had hit a weak spot with him. Her eyes didn’t leave his face, willing him to return her gaze, but he was stubborn, scrutinized the corner he’d chosen as if it held some fascinating magical secret.

“How often do I have to tell you?” Elena asked quietly.

She had no way of really knowing whether he understood what she meant – _How often do I have to tell you I’m in love with you?_ He appeared set on sulking, and there was an angry tension in his body. Her hand on his chest started moving again, and with the tips of her fingers she traced the button line on his shirt, then ventured up, towards his lightly bandaged neck, his sour-looking face.

Severus’ hand flew up and caught hers in a tight grip. He turned to her with flashing eyes. “What is this?” he hissed. “Trying to soften me up again? Why, when you’re going to do exactly what you want, regardless of what I say??”

She pulled her hand out of his grip. “If your opinion didn’t matter to me, I wouldn’t be telling you any of this at all”, she explained coolly, although his reaction pained her. At the same time, she knew that she mustn’t give in to these moody tantrums of his, not when she felt that what she was doing was justified. It would get her exactly nowhere with him, plus she’d lose his respect in the long run.

Severus was staring into his corner again. Demonstratively, he folded his arms over his chest, signalling that he was in no mood to communicate. Elena sensed that regardless of what he’d said, he _wanted_ her to soften him up and in fact she was tempted, part of her was prepared to give in. The other part, however, saw that it just wasn’t right and this was why she couldn’t just lay there, staring at him, willing him to return the gaze once more. With a sigh, she shifted on the bed and turned her back to him, pulling up the blanket. “Sleep well then”, she said, trying to sound calm, “at least once you’re done sulking.”

No reply.

Elena groped for her wand which she’d deposited on the nightstand and with a flick of it, she extinguished all the candles in the room. Her heart was once more beating hard, half anxiously, half angrily. She pressed her eyes shut with determination, but at the same time realized that she wouldn’t be able to sleep.

Behind her back, everything was quiet. Only after a few minutes she could feel him shifting and then heard a loud clatter as he was pulling of his shoes and let them fall to the ground. Then there was the rustle of fabric as he took off some item of clothing; a laborious cough and another shift.

‘Gosh, I hate it when he’s like that’, Elena thought to herself. ‘Why is it so much easier for him to be stubborn than it is for me?’ She felt tears coming to her eyes and would have liked to moan. How overly sensitive she was wherever he was concerned! She swallowed, determined not to let emotion overwhelm her. However, this was difficult as there was no way she would sleep under these circumstances, and he was so much better than she was when it came to enduring uneasy silences.

The minutes ticked away while Elena kept listening to the complete silence in the darkened room.

Then there was another shift behind her back. She thought that she heard him sigh. And in the next moment, she felt his fingertips on her shoulder. “Elena …”

The sudden touch and the whisper – surprisingly close to her ear – almost made her jump, but she willed herself to lay still. His fingers travelled over her shoulder, lightly, gently. His warm breath caressed her skin.

She couldn’t take it any longer. “ _Süßer_ …”, she moaned, feeling a desperate and confused. That word she’d said to him before, in the night at the lighthouse, and she’d also explained to him what it meant, _sweet man_. Maybe he remembered it, because the next thing that happened was his arm sneaking below the covers and around her upper body. He gripped her ribcage just below her heart and pulled her close to him, against his chest, pressed his face into her hair and murmured something she didn’t catch. Elena inhaled sharply, was completely overwhelmed by this passionate embrace, her entire body tingled and she felt his heart beating madly against her shoulder blade. For a few seconds, she remained still, then she couldn’t take it any longer, squirmed in his arm and tried to turn around to face him. He didn’t let her. His grip was so tight she was unable to move.

She heard his silky voice at her ear. “Like this. Please.”

Had she ever heard Severus Snape say a pretty ‘please’? It was hard to resist.

“You and your mood swings”, she sighed.

A few seconds passed. Then he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

By way of a reply, she put her hand on his, close to her breast. His fingers slid apart, making space for hers. Again, she felt him bury his face in her hair and then, after a while, his lips on her shoulder, her neck, gently brushing, and his hot breath. Her skin felt as if burning up.

“Severus”, she moaned, “let me turn around …” She so wanted to kiss him or at least to nuzzle against his neck, touch his face, show him with tenderness what she felt.

“No”, he replied, “please.”

“I can feel that you want to …”, she started protesting, but he shushed her.

“This is what I want”, he whispered, “what I _need_.”

Again, she wanted to protest, but then it occurred to her that this was the first time he’d spoken about what he needed. Maybe, she thought, she was taking too much for granted by stereotyping him as an ordinary male chiefly out for sex. And although lying like this, flush against his body, she couldn’t help noticing his desire, she thought that maybe this was more important to him. Closeness. Tenderness. Maybe this was why he always created these situations in which he first pushed her away and then came close again, as if to test her affections. And although this little male game – ‘Be there for me, but don’t nail me down’ – unnerved her, she wasn’t at all sure that he did it consciously.

So Elena decided that this must be enough for now. With a contented purr, she pressed against him, her fingers intertwining with his. She willed herself to bask in the moment, in his arm around her, his breath on her neck and the occasional light brush of his lips.

It took a long time until she calmed down and her heart returned to its normal pace. Soon after that, however, she felt herself slipping into delicious sleep …

* * *

 

The next time she woke up, it was dawning outside and the luxurious Tudor-style bedroom was bathed in a greyish light. Before she even realized this, she became aware of Severus softly snoring into her hair. His arm was still around her body, but its grip had loosened. This was her chance. She _had_ to turn around.

Slowly she shifted, careful not to upset the mattress too much. He lay on his side, still wearing his pants and the crisp white shirt, buttons undone to expose a pale, black-dusted chest. His mouth was slightly open, his hair tangled in his face. Gently, she brushed aside a few black strands, then bent over him, touching her lips to his temple, his cheek bone.

When she drew back, she saw that his eyes were open. He looked at her, guardedly at first, but when he saw her smile, he returned it tentatively, reaffirmed his grip around her and pulled her once more against him. Sighed deeply.

Elena chuckled, then settled down and closed her eyes again.

* * *

 

When she woke up again a few hours later, she found him sitting on the edge of the bed in his coat and shoes and obviously waiting for her to come out of her slumbers. His eyes when she looked at him were soft, the usual guarded glare replaced by something different that hadn’t been there before. He didn’t smile, but Elena sensed that something important had changed.

The next hours confirmed this. Once they joined Narcissa and Draco at the breakfast table, Severus’ impassive face was rigidly set again, and yet there was something about the way he moved, behaved, spoke that seemed unusually at ease and calm. Their hosts gave nothing away, but from the occasional speculative smile Elena saw on Narcissa, she probably sensed it, too.

The broom ride back was quiet, peaceful. Elena was relaxed now, trusting him, and before long she let her head sink against his shoulder while he had his arm around her waist, and when she put her hand on his, he didn’t object but obligingly parted his fingers for hers to slip in between, as he had done the night before. Every now and then, she turned her head a little to look at his profile and the expression of calm concentration on it.

“See?” he said into her ear at some point. “You only have to relax. And then you’ll notice that it’s not the broom carrying you, that’s just a means to an end, to support your imagination. But you’re truly carrying yourself because you are a witch and you can fly.”

He was right, Elena noted with a strange sense of wonder. “I could never fly like you, though”, she said into his ear so that he would hear her over the breeze, “without a broom.”

“Of course you could”, he held against, “if I were to throw you from the top of a tower, you’d fly. How do you think I learnt?”

“Someone threw you from the top of a tower??”

“Not _someone_. Voldemort. And not from a tower, either, but from the edge of a very high and ragged cliff.”

“Don’t do that to me, please”, she said with a smile, “I’d hate that.”

He made a show of frowning doubtfully. The corners of his mouth twitched. Eventually, however, he said “Alright, then.”

They arrived safely on their clearing in the woods. It was obvious that Snape would proceed to Hogwarts where he had duties even on a Sunday. Elena, too, had things to do to catch up on her thesis. Also, she’d been given scores of stuff to prepare for the Crowley Academy. For some reason, however, their fingers would not part. They acted as if they didn’t notice it, coming up with one organizational thing after another.

“Let me know about the academy”, Severus said, holding on to her eyes with his, “what’s happening. Also, keep me owled on any progress with your … very special boy.”

Elena beamed at him. Although he’d spoken with a degree of sarcasm, she saw very well that he had grudgingly approved of her proposal to enlist Stephen Periwinkle’s help. He might not like it, but appeared to acknowledge the fact that he had to let her use her own judgment occasionally. “I will, I promise.”

“Careful”, he admonished her.

She nodded.

Then, very slowly and hesitantly, her fingers slipped out of his and they each went on their way.

 


	24. The Inquisitor

**The Inquisitor**

 

Two major events set the following week apart for Severus Snape.

The first occurred on Monday night after he’d finished grading papers with growls and generous streaks of blood-red ink. Finally through with the stack, he pushed it as far away on his desk as he possibly could and sat back in his armchair with a dejected sigh at the two hours of frustration that lay behind. Really, sometimes it was as if the tykes spoke a different language, they didn’t appear to understand at all what he was continuously telling them, he might as well not have bothered! But such was his fate, the unwilling teacher carrying the torch of wisdom into muddy waters where it would be extinguished with no more than a sorry hiss. – Enough with that now, he had earned himself two fingers’ width of Ogden’s once he’d arrived in his private quarters. Also, he had earned himself a bit of musing, allowing in thoughts he’d pushed under since that unplanned sleep-over at the Malfoys’, but that were now beckoning to him to be thoroughly indulged in. He was about to get up from his chair when a loud knock made him stop in his tracks. A second later, Pomona Sprout stuck in her head through the door.

“You’re wanted down by the Forbidden Forest, Snape”, she bellowed, “now.”

“No”, he replied with a determined head shake, “no patrolling duty for me tonight.”

“Are you deaf?” Sprout peered at him with narrowed eyes. “You’re wanted. There was an incident.”

“What kind of incident?”

“Only thing I know is that one of your House is involved”, the Herbology professor replied with a shrug, “so you better get your scrawny ass down there.”

Sprout was a no-nonsense both-feet-on-the-ground kind of person and had no sense for ceremony. Snape didn’t usually mind this – in fact, in his mind Pomona was the lesser evil among his colleagues and she certainly knew hell of a lot about magical plants – except for when she referred to his backside, so he cast her a very cold look, growled under his breath and checked for his wand. “What have they done _now_?”

“I’m sure you’ll find out”, Sprout chirped.

Find out he did. Down by the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a small party of people had gathered that reminded him of a flock of overexcited birds. There was a looming and twitching Hagrid whose large frame looked, as always, slightly out of place. There was Filius Flitwick whose turn it was to patrol tonight together with a select flock of Ravenclaw seventh years, and Hermione Granger who appeared to have a sixth sense for unusual occurrences. In the midst of all these people, Severus spotted two smaller figures, huddled together, one dressed in blue and bronze school robes while the other’s had a green and silver hue … He recognized Laurie Paik, first-year, first Muggle-born in Slytherin for years and seeker for the Slytherin quidditch team, and Cindy Hollis, Paik’s inevitable sidekick from Ravenclaw. As he came closer, he spotted an immovable figure on the ground; horns, rubbery skin …

“What happened?”

Anxious eyes turned on him.

“Another satyr attack”, Flitwick growled darkly. “When I thought we’d finally gotten rid of that pest …”

“Is anyone hurt?”

“Fortunately not. As it appears, you taught your students well …”

Snape had gone to his knees to examine the satyr lying on the ground and apparently out cold. Then he glared up at Paik and Hollis who looked green around the nose. “ _You_ took him out?”

“Yeah”, this from Paik, rendered breathlessly, “Cindy got him from behind and I finished him off.”

Snape gingerly touched the unconscious satyr and lifted a rubbery eye-lid. The creature issued a hardly audible moan. “Thorough job”, Severus murmured, more to himself than to the girls.

“Well done, ladies!” Hermione Granger applauded. “And all on your own, too! You know, that reminds me of my own first year when Harry, Ron and I took out a …”

“What were you two midgets doing in the Forbidden Forest at this hour?” Severus broke in savagely. “You know full well it’s off-limits!”

Laurie Paik started. “We just … I mean … we didn’t …” she shut her mouth and her eyes looked wild.

Snape bent over the satyr once more to hide the satisfied grin that was curling his lips; so his efforts of the last weeks to teach even the youngest Hogwarts students some satyr-self defence hadn’t entirely gone into the muddy waters. He felt distinctly pleased, but would rather have bitten his own tongue off than show it.

“Yer ain’t goin’ ter cut this one up again, are yer?” Hagrid glared at Snape with wary eyes.

“Only if you insist”, Snape replied with a nasty smile, but then relented. “No. This one we should keep alive as long as possible.”

“A pen, mebbe?” Hagrid suggested hopefully.

Snape saw an opportunity of getting the beast off his hands. “Well, why not? Provided you can make it safe …”

“I think I can.”

“Good! I’ll leave that to your … capable hands then.” With a satisfied grunt, Snape got up, brushing soggy grass and earth from his knees.

“I thought we’d found them all!” Hermione Granger approached him. “And now they’re back?”

“You have an uncanny way of stating the obvious, Miss Granger.”

“Someone needs to tell McGonagall.”

“That, too, is pretty obvious. And it’s just where I’m going to take these two offenders.”

Laurie Paik and Cindy Hollis who’d listened in attentively shrank when they heard this.

“Surely they shouldn’t be punished?!” Hermione glared at Snape with impertinent strictness. “They just took out a satyr! On their own!”

“Which would not have happened if they’d stayed in their common room …”

“Come on, Severus! They …”

“Ah!” His hand jerked up at the use of his first name by Granger. It was true that he’d let it pass on a previous occasion, and yet he didn’t feel like he’d fully authorized it. “I’m not going to reward their disregard of school rules, no matter what kind of supposedly heroic act it led to. By the way, this is the same attitude that I had when you and your two Gryffindor friends took bested that troll. Unfortunately, Dumbledore wouldn’t listen to me …”

Granger warranted this with a sly smile and Severus wheeled around at the two little girls.

“You”, he said menacingly, “come with me.”

Paik and Hollis exchanged looks of ill foreboding, and as Snape lead the way up the hill towards the castle – cloak fluttering ominously behind him – the two girls followed, stumbling as they tried to keep up with his swift pace.

“Sir!” Paik panted. “We didn’t do nothing by the Forest, we just …”

“Didn’t do _anything_ ”, Snape corrected her without turning over his shoulder. “And if that was true, how come you ran into a satyr at all?”

“We were just walking!” Laurie Paik sputtered breathlessly.

“After lessons? During your study time?”

“We had something to talk about!”

“Oh! Now that changes _everything_! Forgive me for bothering you with school rules when you had something immensely important to discuss!”

“OK, so _may-be_ that wasn’t … but …”

“We saw the satyr soon after Professor Flitwick and the others went into the Forest on their patrol, sir.” Cindy Hollis had spoken, her awe of Snape was giving her a hiccup. “We were scared that he might come upon them by surprise, we felt that the least we must do was warn them …”

“Right! We couldn’t _not_ warn them, could we?”

At last, Snape glanced over his shoulder. He bit the inside of his mouth so as not to smile. “Save your excuses for the Headmistress”, he growled and strode on.

Minerva McGonagall who was already in her nightgown and bathrobe and whose square spectacles sat on her nose slightly askew, listened gravely to Snape’s account of the events and glowered at Paik and Hollis so sternly the two girls shrank even more. However, she was essentially a kind woman – and Severus sometimes suspected she was getting sentimental with age – and so, after a brief reminder of the Forbidden Forest being _seriously_ off-limits, she informed the students that, considering their bravery, punishment would be suspended this time, to be meted out more ferociously should they ever be caught down there again at this time of day. They were to proceed to their common rooms immediately, and tomorrow there would be an announcement at breakfast to reinforce caution among the students.

“Just a moment, Severus”, the headmistress called after Snape when he was ushering the girls out of her office.

“Yes, headmistress?” Snape shut the door behind him.

“I’ll have to report this incident to the Ministry.”

“I see.” Snape kept a straight face.

“I don’t like it, either, but those are the rules.”

“Well, if you must.”

“They are probably going to send someone.”

“Someone to ask a lot of questions, then leave and do nothing?” Snape grinned nastily.

“They take student safety very seriously”, McGonagall said tersely, but her sigh suggested that she agreed with him. “That’s why all incidents of that sort have to be reported and will be investigated. And whoever they send, they are probably going to want to talk to you. As Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, this falls within your realm.”

“Certainly”, Snape murmured.

“I am aware that you’re not on very good terms with the Ministry right now. Yet, I am going to ask you to cooperate with them as well as you can.”

Snape twitched with resentment at McGonagall’s unspoken caution that he behave civilly. After a few deep breaths, however, he inclined his head mockingly. “Will that be all, Headmistress?”

The headmistress peered at him over the rim of her spectacles. She was clearly suspicious. “Yes, Severus”, she said pointedly, “that will be all. For now.”

He left the office, only to find Paik and Hollis waiting for him in the corridor.

“What are you still doing here?” he hissed, venting his general irritation. “Didn’t you hear the Headmistress? You’re to go back to your common rooms!”

“Sir, we’ve been thinking …” Paik started.

“ _You’ve_ been thinking!” Cindy Hollis corrected her with a warning glare.

“Alright, _I_ ’ve been thinking”, Paik looked up at Snape with wide dark eyes and she forced a smile to her lips that was probably meant to be disarming, “that we might stay away from the satyr-self-defence lessons now.”

“What the … hell makes you think that?!” Snape growled, his brow shooting up warningly.

“Why, sir, it’s taking up a lot of time that we could well use for studying, and … um … we’ve proven that we can do it, haven’t we? I mean … we totally took’im out!” She stared up hopefully at Snape, though Cindy Hollis looked none too sure of herself.

“I see”, Snape said silkily, “you now consider yourselves two right little satyr slayers who don’t need the practice.”

“Well, you have to admit, sir, that there are others who don’t do it that well …” Paik batted her almond-shaped eyes, the only delicately feminine feature in her tomboy face. Again, Snape struggled for a straight face. There was a rumour at Hogwarts that Laurie Paik was his pet, that she had a special connection to him, and he saw now that she played on it. There was no doubt in Snape’s mind that she sorely needed a harsh disillusionment.

“The only thing I am going to admit”, he drawled menacingly, “is that you have learnt nothing! You may see yourselves as ready-made heroes, when only the continuous practice _I_ impose on you put you in a position to ensure that neither of you ended up seriously wounded or even dead! So any praise that has so prematurely been paid to you tonight should really go to your ever-patient teacher for his zeal and efforts! – Thank you very much!”

Two pairs of eyes glared at him, one belligerent, the other fearful.

“But sir …” Laurie Paik started.

“OFF to your respective common rooms, _NOW_ , lest I hand out detention to school your modesty!”

It was enough to make them take off at the speed of lightning. Snape watched the two small figures scurrying down the corridor with a grin of satisfaction. It was good to know he still had it in him. Lately, he sometimes caught himself wondering whether he was getting soft with sentimentality …

 

* * *

 

Routine was a given at Hogwarts, and it had the power of burying anything. Hence, after a couple of days Severus had almost forgotten about the new satyr incident. Hadn’t Hagrid proudly presented him with the pen he’d built for the creature near his hut – needless to say that he had taken it upon himself to lavish any conceivable kind of loving care on his out-worldly prisoner – Snape might not even have remembered. He had different things on his mind; the search for Ainsworth, the nightly patrols of the Forbidden Forest on top of a tight teaching schedule and his visits every night to Spinner’s End, ostensibly to let his mother check on his neck wound – although the exercise was by now a formality – but really to check on the Chinese lampion in the window of the opposite house. No surprises there, thankfully, the soothing glow invariably waited for him every night and put him at ease. ‘It’s alright’, he told himself, ‘she’s not stupid, she’ll watch her back.’ Whenever he thought that, however, he was simultaneously wondering whether he believed it himself.

Something peculiar had happened to that lampion. Whenever he saw it, association led him straight to her; or not so much to her, but to the touch of her fingers, her lips brushing his temple. That again led to the vivid memory of her body in his arm, pressed against him, warm and soft. That softness … in spite of himself, he was constantly trying to recreate it in his mind, the sensation of it, the luxuriousness of it. He had heard that women tended to object to their own softness and went to surprising lengths to reduce it. Didn’t they know what it did to men, what power it gave over them? A power so strong it could be evoked by no more than the orange glow of a Chinese lampion …

The imprisoned satyr was doomed, anyway. Only hours after being put into the pen it became ill. The symptoms were the same that Severus had observed before; a high fever, rubbery skin turning blue. As the end of the week approached, the satyr died, and once more Hagrid was in tears.

“It’s like they have a dead switch”, he was sobbing to an irritated Snape when the latter came to visit the pen on the Friday, “once we catch’em, they die!”

“They’re not made to last”, Severus replied tersely.

“What do yer mean, not _made to last_?”

“They’re fabricated. I’m certain of it. So stop wasting your … _emotions_ on something that’s not even a creature, but really an animated object!”

Hagrid peered darkly at Snape from under his fringe of scraggly hair and Severus thought he heard him growl “ _Cold basterd_!” under his breath. So Severus lived up to his reputation, gave an impassive shrug and walked away from the pen up to the castle.

It was about lunchtime and he had two hours until the next DADA lesson with an unusually bone-headed bunch of second-years (Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, so who’d be surprised). Severus decided to spend the time in his office to do some reading and in doing so refill his energies to get through the afternoon. However, as he came closer to his retreat in the dungeons, he saw the door standing open. A strange feeling made itself felt in his guts, reminded as he was of the intrusion into his office several weeks ago. He still hadn’t made head nor tail of that, it had been swallowed up by daily routine like so many other things. Now, however, the theft of Lily’s photograph came back to him, and he felt a stab of pain.

When he entered his office, he indeed found an intruder, but one of the unexpected kind. In the chair in front of his desk – in the same place where he sat down worried parents, candidates for detention and any other sort of juvenile offender – lounged a man, with his back to the door. His hair was a gleaming white and his legs were comfortably crossed. The fingers protruding from a stiff white sleeve with eccentric cuff links were drumming impatiently on the arm rest.

Severus slid into the room as quietly as he could – and he certainly could – folded his arms and stared at the back of the snowy head for a while. He knew all too well who this was. Only after a few seconds did he issue a cough and watched the jolt going through his visitor’s body with grim satisfaction.

The probing eyes of Aeneas Crowley stared at him and Snape observed the man regaining his composure. “Professor Snape! I am sorry for the intrusion. One of your students told me that I could wait in here.”

“Did they”, Snape replied coolly, looking doubtful. Normally, his students knew well enough not to show anyone in here in his absence. He was quite certain that Crowley had made an independent decision, may it be out of disregard or in order to rattle him. Not knowing what to expect, however, Severus decided to let it pass.

“May I assume that you know who I am?” Crowley asked, but sounded confident as if it was only a hypothetical question.

Feeling a fiendish pleasure inside, Snape issued a reserved “No?” and looked gave the man a blank look.

Crowley’s eyebrows drew together and he introduced himself with extreme formality and an undertone of irony.

“To which circumstance do I owe the honour?” Snape returned the sarcasm.

However, Crowley had recovered and smiled enigmatically. “My recent appointment as a Ministerial Inquisitor.”

Snape was still in teacher mode and thus had to stop himself so as not to growl “Nonsense!”. Instead, he breathed and said “ _Inquisitor_? Is that a new office?”

“It is. Installed at my instigation, with a good backing from the Wizengamot. There is a consensus, you see, that the Ministry must stop its hands-off policy of the past and become more vigilant of new developments in the wizarding world; and it will be an Inquisitor’s job to do just that.”

“And what do Aurors do these days?” Snape cocked an eyebrow. “Push quills?”

“No, no, they still do as they have always done. The office of Inquisitor takes a different approach than that of Auror, though.”

Severus could only just about imagine it. While Aurors at least had the guts to go out and fight, the title ‘Inquisitor’ suggested interrogation, manipulation and blackmail, dirty little procedures carried out behind closed doors. Yet, Snape shrugged. “I should have thought that one could have chosen a better title. The term ‘inquisitor” evokes certain … associations, especially here at Hogwarts.”

“It is only a title, Professor”, Crowley said evenly, an amused smile around his mouth. “May I sit?”

“Suit yourself.” Snape watched Crowley reinstall himself comfortably in the armchair, then walked around his desk and sat down hesitantly. He would have preferred to remain standing, looking down on the man. “I guess you came because of the recent satyr incident.”

“The Ministry takes those very seriously”, Aeneas Crowley explained. “It is unfortunate that this pest occurs precisely at the present time when the wizarding world should really put their energies into reconstruction.”

“Things never occur at the right moment, is my experience”, said Snape and flexed his fingers under the desk, “and although the infestation is certainly a problem, I feel that we have it under control, at least here at Hogwarts.”

“You seem confident.”

“I have every reason to be. The latest satyr we caught was overpowered by two first-years. I’ve been training my students conscientiously to deal with the threat, and the fact that even our youngest can do it makes me quite optimistic.”

Crowley didn’t appear at all impressed by that. “What happened to the caught satyr?”

“Died. Today. All the satyrs we caught became sick after a short time.”

“How do you explain that?”

The lie came without so much as a flinch. “The climate, I suppose. They’re really Mediterranean creatures.”

There was a tiny quirk around Crowley’s mouth, almost imperceptible, but years of spy work had trained Snape to take due notice of such small signals. “Have you undertaken any efforts, Professor, to find out where these beasts come from?”

Snape smiled nastily. “The fact that they come from the Mediterranean can be gleaned from any …”

“I didn’t mean that!” Crowley interrupted with an irritated jerk of the head. It showed – if only for a brief moment – that he wasn’t as smooth and in charge as he would have liked Snape to believe.

“I know”, Severus said quickly, using the advantage, “and of course I am as much in the dark as to the source of this infestation as you are … or appear to be. If pressed, I’d say it’s somebody’s twisted idea of a joke.”

“No idea who that somebody might be?”

“None at all”, Snape drawled with a bored sigh.

“Then why are you looking for Abelard Ainsworth?”

It took all of Severus’ self-control to remain seated. His instinct was to shoot up and pace the room, or at least to throw a tantrum. He’d known it, had felt it even in several moments during the last weeks: they _were_ watching him! Outwardly, he remained calm, kept his eyes on Crowley’s face and, after a few seconds, allowed himself a sarcastic grin. “I think you can answer that question for yourself, Mr Crowley.”

“I’d rather hear it from you”, the man replied curiously.

The advantage was lost. Crowley had caught him in a lie, or at least in an attempt of obscuring matters. However, he mustn’t allow the man to use this. “Since you are now an Inquisitor with the Ministry”, he started, thoughts racing through his mind, “it won’t have escaped your notice that the satyrs are not … natural beings.”

Crowley smiled slyly. “So you have performed an autopsy?”

“Obviously”, Snape said with a shrug.

“And it didn’t occur to you to inform the Ministry about your findings?”

“No. I trust in the Ministry of Magic’s ability to make their own investigations.”

“Which you seek to undermine.”

“Not at all. My primary worry is the well-being of my students.”

Crowley glared at him scornfully. “Is it, Professor?”

Snape returned the glare, challenging the man to go on.

“Tell me, Professor Snape”, Crowley did just that while his eyes roved the room – the gloomy office and its shelves packed with obscure and sometimes disgusting artefacts, “does it bother you very much to be down here again, kicked out of the Headmaster’s chair?”

For the fraction of a second, Severus was speechless; his eyes flashed dangerously. “What are you trying to say?”

“You are a man who craves power”, Crowley stated coolly, unflinching. “Your past choices suggest that. And I don’t buy at all that you are mainly serving your students. I believe you first and foremost serve yourself.”

“We all do, to a point.” Snape was trying to stare Crowley down, but the man clearly felt he had the upper hand.

“The question is how high up that point is”, he dealt out smoothly, “and I cannot ignore the fact that you have – _at least_ twice by now – neglected to cooperate with the Ministry on important issues. Your findings on the satyrs could have been valuable to us. But no, you chose not to share and pursue your own investigation instead.”

What did Crowley know? Had he any idea about the reformation of the Order of the Phoenix? Snape remembered what a young Ministry official had said to him after the hearing, namely that these days there were sure ways of ascertaining someone’s whereabouts. The fact that he’d been left in peace since the hearing had led him to believe that his troubles were over. Now he saw that there was a good possibility that all of his movements were being closely monitored, and he congratulated himself on the decision to fake a falling-out with Elena. He willed himself to be calm and forced a grim smile on his face. “Performing an autopsy on a creature found on Hogwarts grounds is hardly an investigation. Much rather, it falls within my duties as a teacher. Like I said, I have full confidence in the Ministry’s abilities to arrive at the same conclusions as I have.”

“Which are?”

Snape hated that Crowley forced him to spill it out in that way, but he didn’t see any alternative. “They’re fabricated. Not real satyrs at all, but creatures created and animated by a very complex alchemistic process.”

“A process that is grossly illegal, as I’m sure you know.”

“Of course.”

Crowley tilted his head. “Could you do it?”

There was no point in denial, everyone knew what an accomplished potioneer he was. So he said “Maybe. If I put my mind to it. If I had any interest. – But, as you said, it is illegal.”

“And that would bother you?” It sounded doubtful.

Snape’s brows went up once more.

“Illegality didn’t bother you in the past”, Crowley added acidly, and he went on before Severus could say anything, “you see, Professor, at the Ministry we are pragmatists. When a thing like this happens, we ask ourselves who could have pulled off such a thing. To be perfectly honest with you, not a great many names come to mind. Yours does, however. And your name – like it or not – is still a controversial one.”

“I am not going to prove myself to you”, Severus replied and it took a lot to suppress the anger in his voice. “I have said what I have to say at the hearing. I am also fully aware that many people would still rather see me as a Death Eater and scapegoat. I can live with that; in fact, I have for many years. So spare me your suspicions and allegations because frankly I don’t believe you have any proof.”

“It is not my job to provide proof, Professor; it is my job to explore possibilities. And there are a few things which I can’t help noticing …”

“Such as?”

“Mr Theodore Nott was a student of yours, wasn’t he?”

The sudden change of subject threw Severus off a little and he gave a curt nod.

“I’m sure you heard that he broke out of the Ministry dungeons? And managed to get his hands on the Time Turner in doing so?”

Snape’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know _that_ ”, he admitted with an uncomfortable twitch.

“No? – Tell me, Professor, what kind of a student was Mr Nott? Did he strike you as particularly … resourceful? Cunning, even?”

“Not at all. He was a mediocre student and a loner. Hearing what he pulled off came as a surprise to me.”

“My impression precisely. So I am asking myself whether he had help.” Crowley’s eyes twinkled as the searched Snape’s face.

The realization hit Severus with a delay. “Are you saying … that _I_ helped him??”

“Like I said, I’m exploring possibilities here.”

“Why would I do such a thing??” Snape couldn’t help the growl in his voice now. He was close to blowing a fuse.

“He was one of your students. And a Slytherin.”

“You should know that people who hate me most right now are erstwhile Slytherins!”

“Ah, but you might have seen an opportunity there. Specifically the opportunity of getting your hands on the Time Turner again.”

Snape issued a harsh laugh. “Why do you think I want the Time Turner?”

“I can think of a number of reasons. – First, because you consider it yours”, Crowley said evenly, “since Albus Dumbledore gave it to you as an heirloom. Which he shouldn’t have done. Those Time Turners are dangerous and should be destroyed. But I have a feeling that you don’t agree on that.”

“Agree or not, heirloom or not, I have no interest in that Time Turner!” He couldn’t contain himself any longer now, got up from his chair and swiftly went over to one of his shelves, fingering a jar or two. It was, of course, a mistake, for when Crowley spoke again, his voice sounded even more confident than before.

“No? Not even to … win back the affections of a certain young lady?”

Snape froze, fingers on the edge of the shelf.

“She was quite fond of that Time Turner, wasn’t she? I also hear that she has since … rejected your services as a teacher?”

Severus digested all this. As much as he hated what Crowley was suggesting, he couldn’t fail to see that his and Elena’s little charade had taken root, and with surprising ease. He saw what he had to do next and turned his head over his shoulder. “Was that a question? I believe you know perfectly well that she has sought the assistance of _your_ establishment.”

Crowley gave a small smile. “It’s my wife’s project”, he explained, “but you’re right, I know.”

Severus turned his eyes back on the jars. “So if the Time Turner were mine to give her, ‘to win back her affections’, as you say, how come she’s still there?” He made it sound grave and a little dispirited. He hated it, having to play the man that had been rejected and cuckolded. At the same time, it was a role he knew well and it was easy to fake. He brought in the memory of holding Elena in his arms; her attentive eyes on him; her radiant smile; her sweet attempt at seduction ... – Let Crowley think what he wants! Let him think he, Snape, was an imbecile for whom no woman could ever hold serious affections! He knew better, and it gave him an advantage that Crowley wasn’t aware of. Severus turned around. “I do not have the Time Turner”, he said with melancholic finality.

Crowley watched him attentively. Then he gave a sigh. “Those little women, huh? The things they do to us …”

Severus noted this with interest, but kept an impassive face. “Are you talking about yourself?” he asked coolly.

“ _I_ ’ve been a happily married man for more than twenty years”, Crowley replied with a jovial laugh, but to Snape’s taste the reply came a little too fast; he noted that, as well, and stored it away, “I know all about female capriciousness, I can tell you.”

Severus was almost certain that the man had just lied to him. The remark on ‘little women’ had been a slip of the tongue, because although Severus didn’t know Magrathea Crowley personally, from what he’d heard she didn’t qualify as a ‘little woman’ at all. He had to take a closer look at the man. If Crowley had him followed, surely there would be a way for him to snoop out Crowley?

Severus came back to the desk and gave a dejected sigh. “Well, it beats me, I can tell you”, he said, “I’m probably too old.”

Crowley looked ironically sympathetic. Snape would have liked to blast him into the wall with his wand or at least jinx the understanding grin off his face; his fingers were itching. At the same time, he had the distinct feeling that the man believed him, at least where the Time Turner and, most importantly, Elena were concerned. He sat down, took a deep breath – as if to jolt himself out of a depressive mood – then steepled his fingers and looked Crowley in the face. “So, what’s more, Mr Crowley? Apart from suspecting me of stealing a Time Turner to win back a woman’s heart – very much like a teenager would do – and at the same time creating satyrs to attack unwitting children, all in order to become Headmaster again by some obscure design that I don’t really get … is there anything else you would like to put down at my doorstep?”

Aeneas Crowley seemed unperturbed by the biting sarcasm of the words. “I told you, Professor, it is my job as an inquisitor to ask questions, and asking nicely doesn’t usually get me any results.”

“Have you gotten any today?”

“If you’re asking whether I’ve convinced myself that you are an intelligent and resourceful man that is very hard to see through – yes, I have. Also, I am prepared to tell you quite frankly that I find your supposed ‘reform’ a little hard to swallow. I’m not as easily mollified as some of my colleagues at the Wizengamot, you see, because in my experience, a leopard won’t change its spots.”

“And you have come here to tell me that?”

“No. I have come here because of the satyr.”

“Splendid!” Snape got up. “I’ll take you right to it. By now it’s probably stinking to high heaven, but I’m sure as an _inquisitor_ you’ve had much worse.”

Crowley wrinkled his nose a little. “Thank you, Professor, I’m sure I can find my way to the gamekeeper’s hut.”

“If you insist …”

Crowley got up, taking his sweet time. He stared thoughtfully at some point on Snape’s desk. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and menacing. “I have to warn you, Professor. Your independent investigations are a thorn in the eye of the Ministry of Magic. You might lose what little support you still have within its walls by too independent actions. We _will_ keep an eye on you; I most certainly will.”

“I expected no less”, Snape drawled.

“Also, I suggest that you leave the search for Abelard Ainsworth to us. We are aware of him and his capabilities; in fact, we’ve been looking for him for quite a while now. If you meddle with that, it might have serious repercussions.”

“Are you threatening me?”

The bright-blue eyes flashed. “You understand very well what I mean. You may have found yourself in a position in the past where you considered yourself a kind of protector of the wizarding world, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore put that bee into your bonnet. However, Professor, those days are over. You are no longer the ace up Dumbledore’s sleeve. You are a Hogwarts teacher, no less, but certainly no more. Remember this. Stay put. It is the only way in which you can live in peace.”

He nodded curtly, turned and walked out of Snape’s office.

Severus remained standing for quite a while longer, staring at the door that Crowley had banged shut. He felt excited, irritated and anxious at equal measures, and he knew that the feeling would stay with him for the rest of the day, which was a dire prospect. However, there was a remedy. It wouldn’t help the situation, but it would help him. Snape decided that he would avail himself of it at the first opportunity he got, once the day was done and he free to go where he pleased.

The mere thought of it calmed him down already.

* * *

 

“Do you think he _knows_??” Elena’s forehead was clouded with worry as she stared ahead onto the dashboard.

It was pitch-dark outside, though nowhere near midnight; winter solstice was coming closer and with it the shortest day of the year. The only light in the car came form an orangey-flickering streetlamp by the playground where ‘little gnat’ was parked. He’d had to wait almost fifteen minutes for her, had been on the verge of becoming irritated when she’d finally clambered into the car, bringing with her a whiff of cold winter air and of something sweet, cinnamon maybe. It was something Severus had only recently become aware of, how acutely he reacted to her scent, and when she’d gotten into the car he’d caught himself breathing her in, welcoming her. It had created a momentary blank in his mind, so when she’d asked him with curious eyes what was going on, why he’d sent her a cryptic message asking for this rendezvous, he’d had to pull himself together in order to remember the details of Aeneas Crowley’s visit.

“Depends on what you mean”, he said now, pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulders as the Mercedes’ leather seats felt stiff and cold. “If you’re referring to your cover – no, I don’t think he knows. In fact, he appears to have swallowed that we don’t … speak anymore.”

Her eyes narrowed. In the dim light, they had a peculiar glitter and appeared brown. “Are you sure?”

Severus chuckled dryly. “In fact, he seems certain that being rejected by you has made me so desperate I incited Theodore Nott to steal the Time Turner.”

“ _What_??”

“You heard me.”

“But I don’t understand, why the Time T…”

“To win back your affections.”

She stared, incredulous, then threw back her head and laughed. “He thinks you … that you would … oh, that’s _HILARIOUS_!!” An explosion of giggles.

“Yes”, growled Snape, “very funny.”

“Come on! You must admit it’s quite original what people come up with …”

“Yeah, specifically if they paint me as someone instigating a break-out and a theft just to get into a woman’s …”, he broke off, cast a twitchy side glance at her, “… well, to please her.”

She grinned, knowing full well what he’d wanted to say. “You know that this man isn’t exactly your fan”, she reminded him gently.

“Well, I could surely live with that, but I hope you realize what he is doing? He takes all those things that happened recently – the satyr attacks, the ill-fated Death Eater hunt, and now Theodore Nott, as well – and puts them on _my_ doorstep! He more or less told me that he holds _me_ responsible for all the events destabilizing the magical world lately, that he thinks I’m a power-driven man who’d stop short of nothing!”

“That’s an age-old strategy, dumping one’s own shit on the person you fear might cause you the most trouble”, Elena said, “you can probably find it in Sun Tzu. It only means that Crowley considers you a force to be reckoned with. That he’s afraid of you.”

He saw that she was right, but yet he wasn’t happy. “Problem is, the Ministry’s having his back. And I know for sure now what I always knew, that he’s having me followed.”

The frown was back. “You’re sure?”

“I’ve felt it all along. It’s like a constant itch at the back of my neck.”

Elena looked anxious. “Do you think that they can …”

“No”, he interrupted her, sensing where she was going, “I put all kinds of protective spells on this car. No one is going to find us here.”

“Good”, she breathed.

He watched her for a while, scrutinized her profile while she stared through the windshield. “Does Crowley ever turn up at the academy?” he asked carefully.

“I saw him this week”, Elena volunteered eagerly, “just … quickly, you know, on the go, but …”

“I’m afraid I’ll need you to find out what you can about him.”

Her eyelids fluttered, she seemed insecure.

“I cannot do it”, Snape went on; the look he gave her was intense, “I have to be far more careful about my movements from now on, that much became clear to me today. There’s also the Order to think of. – However, Crowley believes your reasons for coming to the academy, I am very certain of that, so it’s going to be _you_ who must find out.”

“I see. I have no idea where to start, though. Like I said, I only saw him once …”

“Be resourceful”, Snape said, “I know you can.”

“Wow! Was that a compliment?”

“Be careful, too.”

“Sure I will.”

“Anything new, by the way?”

“Plenty of things. But nothing that’s really important. You know, to us, to the Order.”

Snape’s face darkened. “Are they … decent to you?” He made it come out like a growl in order to mask his apprehension. In fact, he was worried about this. From what Elena had recounted at the Malfoy dinner, the Crowley Academy was a pure-blood thing, or that at least had been the impression that had formed in his mind.

She made light of it, waved her hand. “They’re alright.”

He knew it was a lie, that she was putting on a brave face. Severus touched her hand with the tips of his fingers. It was meant as a very light gesture of encouragement, but Elena was a little like the devil, taking a hand when she was offered a little finger, but literally in this case. With a look of surprise, he watched her hand sneaking unabashedly into his, her fingers intertwining with his, but he had neither heart nor will to break the contact. When he looked up at her face, she smiled; it was a warm and intimate smile, and in the dim light her eyes appeared so deep it was difficult not to drown in them. She blinked; then let her forehead sink onto his shoulder. A noise came from her throat, like a purr, as she snuggled against him. With a feeling of helplessness, Severus felt his pulse quicken and an unmistakable tension took hold over his body. He smelt her scalp, her hair, the way they tickled his cheek.

An inner voice warned him, told him that this was the worst possible point in time to allow this closeness, especially now that he knew for certain that Crowley was on to him. What was happening, anyway? So far he’d been quite successful in keeping her at arm’s length, cite caution to make her back off. The night at the Malfoys had changed something, though; he couldn’t put his finger to it, but he found that it was becoming more and more difficult to stay reserved and distant. He found it impossible to escape her eyes, the way she looked at him which was both confidential, private and … yes, adoring. No one had ever looked at him in this way, and this made it incredibly hard for Severus to keep his cool. Plus, it was exhilarating to have someone to talk to, someone who’d come when he beckoned, someone who’d listen to his worries. In fact, this state of having a confidante, someone who’d inevitably be on his side, was an experience so intense it made him light-headed.

He breathed, felt how tired he was after a long day with a lot to process and think about. He felt the urge to indulge in the feeling of exhilaration that made his spine tingle pleasantly. And after a while, he tilted his head to one side and allowed his cheek to lightly rest on the crown of Elena’s head. Again she purred, like a cat rolling up in someone’s lap. It was a beautiful picture that made him smile.

“What do you want me to find out about Crowley?” Elena asked in no more than a whisper.

“What he does, who he meets. With a focus on dirty secrets. Things he doesn’t want others to know.”

“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to do that. Like I said, I saw him at the Academy this week, but only this once.”

There was a short pause. “Do you see his wife?” Snape asked eventually.

“I spoke to her this week.”

Snape turned his head, looked at her as she was raising her eyes up at him. “Yes?”

“Just … small talk. She asked how I was doing and all that. She asked about our … you know, falling-out.”

“What did you tell her?”

“When people ask me that, I always act as if I didn’t want to talk about it. That’s how they leave me in peace and make up their own truths in their heads which are mostly far more absurd than I could ever dream them up.”

He couldn’t help grinning at the shrewd observation. “Maybe you should … take her into your confidence.”

“Get closer to the Crowleys – and thus to Aeneas – by entrusting them with my woes?”

“For instance.”

“But I don’t have any woes”, she said with dancing eyes. “In fact, I’m very happy.”

Severus understood what she wanted to tell him. He pressed her fingers; his thumb had long ago started to stroke the soft skin of her hand, it had happened almost unconsciously. “Make something up”, he whispered, close to her ear.

“What if they’re not interested?”

“Something tells me they will be.”

“I’ll think of something.”

“I know you will.”

Again, she tilted her head upwards, smiled at him. Challenged him. Oh, how he wanted to kiss her! But then again, he didn’t. He couldn’t trust himself to stop there, and it would make matters infinitely more complicated, would make it impossible for him to keep the clear head that he needed in the weeks to come.

Her eyes became calculating, maybe she sensed his inner conflict. Slowly, she straightened up and gently pulled her hand out of his. Her smile was still on, though.

“I promised to teach you how to drive”, she said.

“What, now?”

“Why not? I’m not tired yet. Are you?”

He was, but he didn’t say so. In fact he was grateful for the opportunity to stay with her a little longer, in this their safe haven – a Muggle car, fancy that – without having to battle with himself all the time whether to kiss her or not. Plus, he _really_ wanted to learn how to make this oddly impressive machine do as he pleased!

“Alright then.”

And for the next two hours, Severus Snape found himself at the receiving end of a careful inauguration into the automotive process. Obviously she had read up on it because she was able to tell him very clearly what would, or should, happen once he turned the ignition key. He found her explanations logical, and logic was something he could work with very well. As it turned out, he was fully able to please her – “Like a duck to water” she said with a satisfied grin once they got to cruising around the block – and it left him with a sense of achievement. It would provide very sound sleep later on.

 

 

 


	25. The Stumbling Spy

**The Stumbling Spy**

 

“Miss Horwath! Are you still with us?”

Reluctantly, Elena tore her eyes away from the window and the sight beyond, wet meadows, hills, a forest in the background, and lazy flakes dancing down from a grey-clouded sky. How soothing it was to look at it, the slowly drifting snow, putting her in a dreamy mood. How easy it was to let one’s thoughts get carried away, to let them dance and chase one another as the flakes did, and how far it had brought her from the classroom with its desk and, most importantly, Charles Redwood, her Magical Philosophy teacher. He was a medium-height man with thinning red-blonde curls, a pouch and intelligent eyes; he was also American (rumour at the Academy had it that he’d been thrown out of Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry due to unorthodox teaching methods) and contrary to most other teachers at this peculiar institution he left an altogether relaxed and open-minded impression. He didn’t like people drifting off during his lessons, though, and now examined Elena with an ironically cocked brow.

She sighed. “Sorry, sir, I didn’t hear the question.”

God, what a drag! Occasionally, she felt like a university student that had been thrown back into kindergarten. She, who was close to getting her literature degree and had studied largely independently for years, was being called to attention again, scolded for being inattentive and – horror of horrors – asked to do homework. The question of what she had gotten herself into came up in her mind almost every day now. At home, her thesis lay untouched. Again, the things she had to do, or should do, were too many to fit into an ordinary day. She caught herself thinking how good it would have been if Severus had really induced Theodore Nott to steal the Time Turner for her. Charming idea of Crowley’s, that one. Romantic, even. He clearly didn’t know Snape very well.

“I am interested in your definition of magic from a philosophical point of view”, Redwood informed her with a frown on his face. “Your home assignment, remember?”

No, she didn’t remember. However, the advantage of studying literature was certainly that you could rattle off some halfway sophisticated-sounding crap at any time. Elena turned an impassive face on Redwood – she had learnt how to do that from the master – and informed him that “I like to take a modern point of view on this.”

At the back of the classroom, someone sniggered.

“Could you elaborate a little, Miss Horwath?” Redwood asked with a small wink at the corner of his eye.

Elena took a deep breath, preparing to be bolshy. “I must admit I’m not very impressed with the ‘gift-from-God’ theory. In my mind, that’s an arrogant and entitled attitude and it doesn’t accord at all with 20th century findings in natural science. – Take quantum mechanics, for instance. In my opinion, it’s the best explanation for magic that anyone has come up with so far.”

“Quantum physics?” Redwood repeated, doubtfully but not without interest. “Have you studied it, Miss Horwath?”

“Naah”, a voice roared up, “she’s just trying to prove that even Muggles are on to something. Some might call that self-deception.”

Elena turned sharply and glowered. A blond and burly wizard was grinning at her broadly. She didn’t remember his name; in fact, she made a point not to because she hated him so much. A pure-blood boy so stupid (or lazy, or entitled, or all of it) he hadn’t made it through Hogwarts and the Crowley Academy was now his parents’ only hope, for which they very likely spent a lot of Galleons. He reminded her of Arcadius Selwyn, a student of Snape’s she’d had a run-in with.

“Please, Mr Rowle, it’s Miss Horwath’s turn”, Redwood smoothened the waves. “Miss Horwath, this is interesting. Where exactly do you see the points of intersection between magic and quantum physics?”

It was an old idea. She had already explained it in depth to Severus – who’d grudgingly admitted that she ‘might have something there’ – and now spun it off in class. The conclusion Elena arrived at was that magic wasn’t an elitist thing, not a gift from God (the preferred theory of the wizarding world), but could theoretically be tapped into by anyone provided they learnt how to purposefully direct energy. Of course, she had no illusions as to the reactions. Scoffs and sniggers all around. Witches and wizards were so invested in the notion that they were special that they hated to let go of it.

Redwood followed the ensuing discussion – which Elena didn’t join in, she just listened, rolling her eyes – with distinct amusement, but let it run its course in the expected direction. The consensus was that quantum physics had no place in the magical world. It was a Muggle eccentricity, only worth to be disregarded. By the end of it, Elena blew up her cheeks in frustration, but that was the moment when the shrill sound of a bell announced the end of the lesson and the start of lunch break. She gathered up her things and left the classroom as quickly as she could.

The corridors of the Academy were clean and spacious, its charm nowhere as medieval as Hogwarts. In fact, it was a nice place, only Elena wasn’t able to really see that. To her, the walls were too close for comfort; the sound of her own steps reverberated on the stone floor and made her want to constantly check over her shoulder. When she’d taken on this assignment for the Order, she hadn’t expected how lonely it was going to make her feel and how endlessly on edge. She needed a break and hurried towards the gardens.

They had become her safe haven. She found herself a corner with a frosted stone bench and wrapped herself up in her cloak (the one Severus had given her) as a salty wind from the sea blew sharply into her face. She took out a book on Arithmancy and tried to concentrate – Elena found the subject unbearably hard – but her thoughts drifted off, drifted North, towards Scotland, towards Severus. And in spite of herself, the thought made her smile.

The night they had spent at the Malfoys’ was almost two weeks past by now, but the feeling, the glow of it was still inside of her. The way he’d held her, buried his face in her hair, eagerly inhaling her scent … nothing in the world could have persuaded her now that he didn’t care for her, not even his coldest demeanour. She’d felt his need, specifically the need for tenderness, closeness. She had also felt his desire and why he hadn’t acted upon it had been a little difficult to understand for her, but she was developing a theory for that, too. Maybe things had gone too quickly for him that first time; maybe he wanted to make up for all the steps they had left out before their first, well, _tumble_. Maybe it was some kind of wizarding concept about how to suitably woo someone (they were more prudish and old-fashioned than Muggles, there could be no doubt about that). Whatever it was, it was alright with her. Elena had never been so certain of his affections. He would come around eventually. In fact, he was coming around.

The blissful thrill of this realization made everything else bearable for her. The non-too-subtle pure-blood vibe of the Academy, the fact that everyone constantly sneered at her extremely short career as a witch and her ‘Mugglish’ appearance. The constant feeling of apprehension caused, of course, by the knowledge that she was here as a spy and not by way of an honest pursuit, and her fear that others might read it off her face, that she might give herself away. The loneliness she suffered. It was about time she got Draco into the Academy …

With a sigh, she forced herself to focus on the book. It was the upshot of her spying venture that being here wasn’t enough, no, she had to play the eager student, too; in fact, it was by far the better strategy not to generate undue attention by bad grades. So she had to study. Rows of numbers, vertical and horizontal cross sums, the principle each number was governed by and all kinds of complicated operations to finally arrive at the result which was invariably magic. She was able to see the beauty and order of the arithmantic process, but the rigidity of the method frustrated her. It certainly wasn’t an intuitive way of doing magic, and that was the reason why soon enough her thoughts drifted off again.

She remembered Severus’ account of his conversation with Aeneas Crowley and his request that she do what she could to find out more about the man. The problem was that she didn’t know where to start. She had met Crowley only once, in the previous week, when he had joined his wife who had been making polite small talk to Elena. He had no more than nodded to her; it was doubtful whether he had even realized she existed. Not that this was a problem. The less note he took of her, the better. But how on earth was she to get close to him?

Trying to concentrate was futile. Her eyes were only scanning the pages, but none of the contents made it across the barrier into her consciousness. She got up, clamped the book under her arm and walked around aimlessly in the gardens. Those were at the back of Abrasax House, a space enclosed by a withered brick wall and sporting a romantic green-and-brown chaos, even at this time of year. It was easy to hide among the shrubs and overhanging branches, to find a private corner, which was exactly the reason she liked to come here. However, it began to dawn on her that the job of spy wasn’t exactly about retreating; in fact, it was about mingling, talking to people, sounding them out. Not for the first time, she wondered how Severus had pulled it off, considering that he wasn’t the world’s greatest conversationalist.

She made herself walk around as if she saw the gardens for the first time. It was another thing that Severus had taught her: looking at a place and getting used to it ensured that you didn’t notice the details anymore because your mind was convinced that there was nothing new to discover. Making yourself look at a place as if for the first time was a matter of attitude, of freeing one’s perception of expectations; it wasn’t so different from the little mind tricks he and Draco had taught Elena for Occlumency.

She walked the length of the brick wall. She heard voices, stopped, listened. A couple of students was hiding under the overhanging branches of a willow tree, kissing. Elena smiled and crept on, doing a little detour. It sent her deep into the shrubs that pressed against the low wall, but there was a path, trampled-down thickets, flat soggy grass. She followed it and stumbled over a narrow fissure in the reddish bricks and a gate. Curiously, she pushed down the handle; there was a screech and the iron-wrought gate swung back.

The path led down a drop of worn and crumbling steps between wet weeds and roots, and Elena found herself in a small cemetery. It was an ordinary graveyard, not too groomed, but not completely neglected either. Flowers were freezing to death on the graves while the weeds grew, confident that they would not be disturbed any time soon. High hedges surrounded the graveyard, it was completely hidden from view. Hence, it was no miracle she had never stumbled upon it.

‘A secret cemetery’, Elena thought, ‘but is it secret?’ She walked along the lines of tombstones, some of which were withered, the writing faint or illegible. She tried to read them anyway, especially the dates. Cemeteries weren’t morbid places to her and within the academy’s grounds, she felt oddly at ease in the company of the dead. Slowly relaxing, she strolled between the graves – only to get a horrible shock when one of the tombstones started to move.

“Stephen! You gave me such a fright!!”

Stephen Periwinkle straightened himself up and for a moment he stood a little shakily, peering at her from under a shock of black hair that had fallen into his face. Long sensitive fingers cramped around a sketchbook. “I … I’m sorry”, he stammered.

In fact, he seemed immensely chagrined. Elena saw that she had thrown him off with her reaction much more than his sudden appearance had shocked her. “Don’t worry”, she murmured, “I just … didn’t see you there. What were you doing, anyway?”

He hadn’t quite recovered yet. With a twitching hand, he raised the sketchbook. Elena discerned some lines, then looked into the direction that Stephen had been facing. She saw that he’d been trying to sketch one of the graves, a rather small stone, but made of white marble with mossy patches. The writing on it was faint, but Elena didn’t take the time to examine it as Stephen was still fidgeting nervously and she wanted to put him at ease. She also wanted to ask him why he was drawing this specific grave – which seemed to ordinary compared to some others – but her instinct told her that the question might upset him even more.

“Don’t you have classes?” she asked instead, gently.

He only shook his head, large dark eyes staring at her from out of a pale face.

Something occurred to Elena and she narrowed her eyes. “Do you have classes at all?”

Stephen carefully observed her face for a while, still wary. After what seemed like an awfully long time, he shook his head.

“No? Then what are you doing here?”

“My father wishes me to be here”, Stephen replied flatly.

“Why?”

“So that I cannot do any harm.”

Elena closed her eyes, sighed. “I’m sorry”, she said.

“I _do_ receive tutoring”, Stephen volunteered. “Kind of.”

“What do you mean, kind of?”

The chocolate-coloured eyes evaded her. He twitched once more, and in that he reminded Elena very much of Severus. They were similar types, pale skin and very dark hair, thin but stringy with not an ounce of excessive fat on them, brainy and often nervous. Maybe Stephen was more delicate, but he was also quite a bit younger. Usually, Elena rejected the idea of having ‘a type’. There was no denying, however, that something about the ‘dark lost boy’ invariably got to her. She watched as Stephen started to rummage in the pockets of his rather shabby brown robe and brought out a book. “I’m reading it”, he announced, giving her an unexpected shy smile.

Elena saw well enough that he was trying to distract her. Nonetheless, she couldn’t help smiling. “How do you like it?”

Stephen nodded to indicate his approval; Elena felt pleased. She had given him the book the week before; ‘I, Claudius’ by Robert Graves. It had been a spontaneous idea and she still remembered the look of astonishment on his face when she had presented him with it. Normally, it was hard to read emotion off Stephen’s face; his obvious pleasure on receiving a gift had surprised her. “There are Sybils in there”, he said now.

Elena wondered about the remark. It wasn’t in Stephen nature to comment on the obvious unless he meant something by it. “I like that scene, too”, she said, probing, “when he gets that prophecy from the Sybil.”

“It is very well described”, Stephen agreed, “I didn’t know Muggles knew this.”

“Graves was a historian”, Elena explained, “a very learned man.”

But it obviously wasn’t what Stephen had meant because he became twitchy again. Not being understood upset him, but he didn’t seem to be able to come up with the right words just now. “The Sybils”, he mumbled eventually.

“Yes?”

“The Sybils. They are powerful. But their power doesn’t belong to themselves.”

Elena frowned. “You mean … they are used? Ab-used?”

Stephen seemed undecided, he teetered on the spot. “Prophecies … exceed the individual.”

She had to think about this before she could make out a meaning. “You mean they work for the greater good? Sacrifice themselves?”

Stephen’s mouth worked. He still hadn’t arrived at what he really wanted to say. “Giving and taking prophecies is a sacred process”, he murmured eventually. “The Sybil is a sacred transmitter. Her message is sacred. But … the whole thing collapses if the recipient … isn’t.”

“Isn’t sacred, you mean?”

A grave nod replied. Elena was by now quite convinced that he was telling her something important, that he might even be hoping that – due to the fact that she’d given him this specific book – she would know his mind. It wasn’t quite as easy, though. And now Stephen Periwinkle appeared to be becoming nervous. Several times he turned over his shoulder, twitched.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Elena asked bluntly.

He shook his head. “It’s this place. We are not supposed to be here.”

“This place?” she repeated. “Do you mean this cemetery? Or the Academy as a whole?”

“Both”, grunted Stephen.

Elena saw that his jaw was locked. All of a sudden, he did something very unexpected, something that – as Elena was able to guess – cost him a lot. He reached out and touched her. In fact, and to her utter astonishment, he grabbed her elbow quite firmly (that, too, reminded her of Severus) and led her away in the direction of the low brick wall. A large tomb nestled against it; it was by far the largest grave in the cemetery, built in the shape of a tiny chapel. In any case, the tomb was high enough to hide an adult, and Stephen dragged her behind it.

“What are you doing??” Elena demanded, confused. This action was certainly out of character, and she couldn’t help thinking that Stephen Periwinkle wouldn’t do this unless he had a very good reason.

However, he only shushed her, putting a finger up to his mouth and looking quite fierce. They were huddled together behind the tomb, their feet in the shrubs and it was an altogether awkward situation that only began to make sense when Stephen gave Elena a meaningful look and pointed. Peeking around the edge of the tomb, Elena saw what he meant. A figure had entered the cemetery from the other side, slender and elegant, a veil of black curls falling over a slim back. Elena recognized the figure immediately. It was Magrathea Crowley.

Elena looked over her shoulder at Stephen. His glance was still meaningful and told her ‘Just watch’. So watch she did as Magrathea Crowley walked slowly and with an expression of concentration between the graves and under the cloudy December sky overhead while singular white flakes were settling in her dark hair. She appeared to be looking for something; her eyes were carefully scanning the ground and the oblong stones that seemed to be sprouting from it. Then she stopped, knelt down. Elena couldn’t see her anymore as the woman was now hidden by hedges and graves.

“Why are we hiding?” Elena whispered to Stephen.

“No trespassers”, he growled back.

“But we go to school here!”

“There are signs all over the walls. No trespassers”, Stephen insisted doggedly.

“Then what were _you_ doing here??”

Again, he shushed her and pointed. Elena turned in the indicated direction and her eyes became wide. Magrathea Crowley had gotten up, but she wasn’t alone anymore. Beside her, as if materialized out of thin air or – rather – as if he had just shot out of the ground, her husband Aeneas Crowley stood by her side. They faced each other, only a few inches between their heads, and talked in hushed voices. Only they didn’t really talk. The longer Elena watched, the more she was certain that this was an argument. What she and Stephen were witnessing was a suppressed marital fight.

“Where did _he_ come from?” she whispered to Stephen.

Stephen replied by way of a shrug. His handsome face looked shrewd.

“Apparated, probably”, Elena answered her own question.

Stephen shook his head. “You can’t Apparate on these grounds”, he mumbled.

“Seriously?”

“Like Hogwarts. Or the Ministry. In crowded places, Apparition is usually banned.”

“Then where did he …” She broke of, because fragments of the fight made it over to their hiding place. – _“… cannot do this … too cruel … no pity?” – “… point in being sentimental … your idea … see it through …” – “… wouldn’t be shocked at all, would you? This … nature … petty jealousy …” – “… greater things at stake …” –_ No matter how much Elena strained her ears, she could understand no more than fragments and the only information she could glean from this occurrence was the fact that there was obviously some sort of marital discord in the Crowley family. Which was interesting. But it probably meant nothing. Was there such a thing as a marriage without fighting? In her hiding place, Elena couldn’t help sneering a bit. She was – and had always been – extremely sceptical where the institution of marriage was concerned. She hardly ever asked herself where this bleak view came from, but preferred to throw her favourite quote by Marcel Proust into people’s faces, the one saying that people getting married was a sure sign of their love coming to an end. She certainly didn’t believe in the whole thing, considered it an empty form with no content, maybe even the opposite of love. What she was observing right now confirmed her pessimism and gave her a feeling of grim satisfaction.

Suddenly, Aeneas Crowley was gone. Gone as quickly as he had appeared. To Elena it seemed as if he had bent down to tie a shoelace, but about three seconds later Magrathea Crowley was alone in the graveyard, continuing her lonesome procession among the tombs, and the presence of her husband seemed rather like a hallucination.

Once Magrathea was out of sight, Stephen lightly touched Elena’s elbow. “Let’s go”, he murmured.

“Where did _he_ go?” she hissed.

“Think”, was Stephen’s terse reply. He took the lead, finding a path through the shrubs to the nearest gate that would take them back to the gardens behind Abrasax House.

“Do you know where he came from?” Elena hissed after him.

But Stephen only smiled, obviously determined to let her do her own thinking. They approached the small gate through which Elena had come. Stephen knew no gallantry and went first. When Elena followed and drew the gate shut, it issued a loud and pitiful screech. They both froze, she and Stephen, glued to the spot. When nothing happened, they walked on cautiously.

“Miss Horwath?!”

Elena froze at the shrill ring of the voice, sighed and turned around, but not before catching the look on Stephen’s face which was tortured, almost desperate.

Her long skirt gathered in one hand and with determined strides, Magrathea Crowley came up from the cemetery. There was a deep line on her forehead. Elena knew that the encounter wasn’t going to be pleasant. She wondered whether the woman had hidden herself somewhere, for she could have sworn that she had gone. Now, however, she was very much present and fixed Elena in her stare before her eyes swerved at Stephen. There was a look of astonishment; clearly, Magrathea Crowley hadn’t seen him before.

“Stephen!” Again, her voice sounded shrill. “Now why am I not surprised?! How many times have I told you that this cemetery is off limits? Remember how I explained to you? ‘The cemetery is our Forbidden Forest!’ I am very, _very_ disappointed in you, Stephen!”

She was a formidable presence, her blue eyes flashing, one immensely pissed-off ladyship. For a few moments, Elena felt cowed as she watched Stephen being lectured like a recalcitrant child. He behaved like one, too, stood there with shoulders hunched and stared onto the ground. It was obvious that he was afraid of Magrathea.

“It’s not his fault”, Elena said as evenly as she could, “ _I_ went in there. Stephen only came to get me out.”

The flashing blue eyes shifted from Stephen to Elena. “This is a family cemetery, Miss Horwath”, Magrathea said with a chill in her voice, “and in order to ensure the Crowley family’s eternal rest, my husband and I _politely_ ask students to keep out; however, to no avail, as it seems!”

“I didn’t know”, Elena murmured.

“There are signs all over!”

“Not when you come in from the gardens, there aren’t”, Elena insisted.

Something changed in Magrathea’s posture, it was a little as if she was deflating. Her beautiful features became smoother and she forced a smile to her lips. “Well, if that is so I must remember to correct this omission.”

“I suggest you do that”, Elena said, feigning hurt pride, “instead of telling off those who are least to blame!”

The forced smile on Madam Crowley’s lips got a nasty touch. She looked back and forth between Elena and Stephen, then inclined her head mockingly. “My bad”, she sneered, “I must apologize, Stephen. – Yes, you heard right, you’re off the hook!”

Elena couldn’t turn her head as quickly as Stephen was gone. He just took off with a slightly stumbling gait and his shoulders still hunched, both evidence of his state of mind. And although Elena resented it a little that he left her alone with this harpy, she couldn’t really blame him, either. This was simply too much for him; he needed solitude to straighten himself out.

“You’ve upset him”, she said coolly to Magrathea.

“Have I now”, Madam Crowley replied indifferently. “You know, Miss Horwath, it’s not as if I haven’t caught him in this cemetery at least ten times …”

“Well, but this time …”

“I get your point. All the same, I wasn’t bearing down on an innocent. Stephen Periwinkle has a way of always doing exactly as he pleases. He is a most difficult young man.”

Elena didn’t know what to say. Intuitively, she wanted to defend Stephen, but an inner voice warned her not to let Magrathea see too clearly what was in her heart, so she ended up saying nothing.

“How did you like the cemetery?” Magrathea asked with a sardonic undertone.

“I didn’t see much”, Elena half-lied, “before Stephen turned up and …”

“I see”, Magrathea interrupted sharply, then she tilted her head. “You have a habit of picking up troubled men, don’t you?”

Impulse was a bloody bitch. Elena felt her anger flaring up like a geyser; heat came to her face. The effort she made to suppress all this was immense. She forced herself to breath calmly and to tame her anger by focussing on how she could best use this situation. “It’s a pattern I’m trying to break”, she murmured eventually.

Magrathea scrutinized her face. Her smile became softer and finally she said “So I’ve heard.”

Elena thought it a good idea to stare onto the ground.

“I must say I was surprised”, Magrathea went on, “I should have thought that Mr Malfoy is a tad young for you.”

Elena bit the inside of her lower lip. ‘Gotcha’, she thought. Draco’s and her little scheme had been duly noted and was making the rounds; people were swallowing it. Now she only had to play it right … “That’s what I thought, too, at first. However, when you’re really getting on, it doesn’t …”

“I agree”, Madam Crowley interrupted her with a fierce nod, “age means nothing. Nothing at all.”

Elena wondered what was behind the grim finality of this statement. “I was surprised myself”, she said as if intimating something very personal.

“He is certainly a very strapping young man”, Magrathea said with an amused glimmer in her eyes, “you’ve probably made a number of young ladies very furious …”

“Not only them”, Elena said, because the opportunity was simply too good.

“Oh, I see”, another sneer on Lady Crowley’s beautiful face. “Well, I’m not surprised. A man like Severus Snape wouldn’t let a girl like you out of his clutches that easily. It appears to me that he likes to fish in waters that are really too deep for him.”

Gosh, she wanted to scratch the woman’s eyes out for that remark! Breathing evenly became an immense effort, standing still an exercise of will. “I wouldn’t know”, she said demurely.

“And you needn’t concern yourself with it. You’re here with us now and we’re glad to have you. You are aware, of course, that most of our students have to pay a fee? Whereas you don’t …”

It was hard to keep a straight face. Why did Magrathea have to remind her of that? So that she would be grateful and comply with anything? “I very much appreciate what you are doing for me”, Elena said and tried to sound bright.

But Madam Crowley wanted to make a little more of her generosity. “You may have guessed by now that we charge according to existing talent. A considerable number of witches and wizards who come here are no more than squibs; getting them to perform acceptable magic is, of course, difficult and hence costly.”

Elena thought of Rowle, her classmate. His family must surely pay a fortune …

“In the case of someone such as you, however”, Magrathea went on, “we consider it our privilege to develop your abilities. Talent should not be sacrificed for money issues.”

“A noble stance”, Elena commented, “but maybe you’re overestimating me.”

Magrathea smiled vaguely. “I’m not. After all, that is what we have Stephen for. The magic he has is quite unique, difficult though he may be.”

“I guess he’s just different”, murmured Elena.

“Yes, he is. And it is kind of you to take an interest. I should warn you, however. It might not be a good idea to become his friend.”

“Why?” Elena asked with knit brows.

Magrathea shrugged nonchalantly. “You might not be able to get rid of him anymore.”

Again, Elena forced herself to breath evenly. Not for the first time she told herself that she wasn’t made for the job of spy. She was way too emotional, ever in danger of bursting out with her innermost feelings, and this was worst when people were concerned that she cared about. However, Severus had equipped her even for that. “Whenever someone really gets to you”, he had said, “remember that they might be testing you, that they might be probing for your weak spot. The moment they have you rattled, they’ve got it.” – Give up her weak spot to Magrathea Crowley? No bloody way! And Severus had told her another, very simple thing: “If you don’t like the conversation, change it.” Imperceptibly, Elena straightened her back. “My friend, Mr Malfoy”, she started, casting down her eyes in mock-modesty, “is very impressed with what I’ve learnt here.”

“Is he now?”

“He said he’s never seen such quick results, not even at Hogwarts.”

“That’s good to hear.” It didn’t sound very impressed, though. In fact, Elena sensed that Magrathea was retreating.

“He told me that he’s very … interested in the process employed here at the academy.”

“Yes. That is true for a lot of people.”

Elena struggled for words. “He’d give a lot to … see it …”

Magrathea Crowley smiled, radiantly and falsely at the same time. “I’m not surprised, Miss Horwath. A lot of witches and wizards would like to familiarize themselves with our process. However, as you know, we’re very selective about that.”

“I _do_ know”, Elena hastened to assure her. “I also know that the Malfoys are a very respected family in the wizarding world. They might … help, you know.”

“Help?” Magrathea gave her another dazzling smile. “What makes you think that we need help?”

“Doesn’t every teaching institution need help?”

“Certainly. But then, we’re selective about that, too.”

Elena didn’t know what more to say. So this had been her honest effort to bring Draco into the mix; and how clumsily and stupidly she’d gone about it! Magrathea hadn’t even been interested! Elena groaned inwardly. She really should have planned this a little better than merely following her gut feeling.

Magrathea Crowley’s lips made a little moue. “We will be having a little party here before Christmas for which we shall open our doors to guests for an evening. If you wish, I can put your young beau on the guest list.”

Elena made herself smile. “That’d be nice.”

“Duly noted. – But shouldn’t you be back in class now?”

Elena’s eyes flew up to the bell tower and she breathed with relief realizing that it was in fact high time to go. The presence of Magrathea Crowley made her skin crawl and she couldn’t wait to get away.

“Charles Redwood’s talking very highly about you, by the way”, Magrathea chirped. “He says that your thinking is very … original.”

‘Very Mugglish, he means’, Elena thought, but smiled meekly. “That’s good to hear. – If you’ll excuse me now …”

Elena had already turned and was dying to get away; as a result, a jolt went through her when Magrathea called her back. “Just one thing, Miss Horwath …”

“Yes?”

“You remember the time when you visited me over at the Manor, with your charming friend – what was her name?”

Elena gave Cassie’s name with a catch in her throat.

“Do you remember how I talked to you about Madam Snape then? – You haven’t ever met her, have you?”

“I have. Briefly.”

“And?” The blue eyes were hard now, examining her as if she was an experimental specimen.

“And – what?”

“What was your impression?”

Elena shrugged. “Another pure-blood bitch refusing to talk to the likes of me.”

Magrathea fidgeted a little, no doubt at the expression ‘pure-blood bitch’. “I see. Not a successful encounter then.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Of course. – But she still … lives with him, doesn’t she? With her son?”

“I have no idea.”

“You don’t? I thought you lived just across the street?”

“I spend most of my time here at the academy. Or with Draco. When I’m home I study and don’t have much time to gawk out of the window.”

Magrathea studied Elena’s face for a while. “I understand”, she said eventually, but it wasn’t entirely clear what exactly she understood. “Well. Don’t let me keep you any longer, Miss Horwath. You have to fly now.”

Elena hardly waited for Magrathea to give her a queenly nod before she took off and ran through the gardens. However, it didn’t occur to her to re-enter Abrasax House. She was looking for Stephen Periwinkle, sure that he was hiding somewhere. Elena had a few ideas about what an ideal hiding place would look like for Stephen; however, no matter how much she looked, she couldn’t find him. She even called him, cooing softly into the dark corners of the garden as if she was trying to coax a kitten out of its hiding place. No reply. And yet, all the time while she was looking, she had the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. It made her hair stand on edge and was probably a precursor of paranoia which appeared to be the inevitable result of spy work (and explained a lot to her about Severus’ psyche). As she was running out of time, anyway, she hunched her shoulders and hurried back into Abrasax House.

* * *

 

In the end, Stephen found her.

By the end of classes, it was already dark outside. Elena had packed up her stuff as quickly as she could and was waiting outside for the carriages that would take the students back to Diagon Alley, from where they were free to depart in whatever direction by Apparition; it was a service the academy provided as a matter of course. A couple of students were queuing in front of her, so she switched off her mind while she waited for her turn. Inevitably, her thoughts wandered to Severus. Was there any way she could lure him out of Hogwarts tonight? Write him an owl, maybe, allude to the strange conversation she’d had with Magrathea, dramatize things a little and ask for a meeting in ‘little gnat’? She loved those; they allowed her to be close to him, to bask in his presence in a confined space. However, there was really no reason; nothing had happened that she couldn’t tell him at the weekend just as well. Plus, he would resent it to be summoned without cause. Then again, Elena imagined how she would bat her eyes at him and tell him that she’d missed him. She had a feeling that it might be just about enough to soften him up. At the same time, she was a little hesitant to risk it …

A whistle pulled her out of her reverie. There were still about ten people queuing in front of her, several more behind her and the whistle might have come from any of them, it might not even have been directed at her. When she turned over her shoulder, however, it came back. A five-note whistle, a dactyl and a trochee, and for some reason she had the uncanny feeling that it spelt her name, ‘É-le-na Hór-wath’. She tried to look around as inconspicuously as she could and thought she sensed a movement in the shadowy arcades at the front of Abrasax House.

Elena made a little show of rummaging in her bag, then issued a string of swear words while she stepped out of the queue.

“Forgot something?” the girl behind her asked kindly.

Elena rolled her eyes. “It’s always the same, I’m such a slob …”

She hurried towards Abrasax House, but took a swerve at the last moment and dove into the shadows, walking a small distance along the front of the house. Stephen Periwinkle was waiting for her, leaning against the wall. His earlier nervousness was gone, he looked as cool as a cucumber.

“You’re a good liar”, he welcomed her without pretext, “a really good liar. I could never lie like that. But _you_ are really good.”

“Am I?” She didn’t quite know where this was coming from.

“You lied for _me_ ”, Stephen reminded her, “to that woman.”

“Oh, that.” She waved it away. “You know, she seemed so touchy about her blasted cemetery …”

“You told a lie as if it was the truth.”

Elena couldn’t quite decide if this was praise or reproach. “It was a white lie, Stephen. I knew she wouldn’t be as mad with me as she would be with you. I’m the newbie here, so my chances at being forgiven are fairer.”

“I could never lie like that”, Stephen informed her.

Elena was struggling for words to defend herself. “I know it’s not right. One shouldn’t lie. But sometimes …”

“Did you lie for me because I am your friend?”

The question was blunt and rendered with an intense stare. Elena looked Stephen in the eyes. “Yes”, she said, “I consider you my friend. And you lied for me, too, remember?”

Stephen shook his head. “I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell. And I won’t. Tell. I cannot lie, but I don’t tell on my friends. Never.”

Elena smiled at him and mouthed a ‘Thank you’.

“I don’t like that woman”, Stephen went on seamlessly.

“Nor do I. – What do you think she was doing in the cemetery?”

“It is the Crowley family cemetery. She has every right to be there.”

“Sure. But then, why is she so touchy about anyone going in there?”

“I told you. There are a lot of secrets.”

Elena examined his shadowed handsome face for a while. “How do you think Aeneas Crowley managed to just … appear there? I can’t get my head around it. If Apparition is not possible …”

“It is entirely banned on the grounds.”

“Then how …”

“He came through one of the graves. The one I was drawing.”

“ _What_??”

“He came through one of the graves”, Stephen repeated monotonously.

“I heard you. – But what does it mean? _Through_ the grave?”

Stephen gave her a look as if she was a little bit obtuse. “Well, obviously there is a secret passage.”

“A secret passage?”

“This place is full of secrets.”

“Do you know this for a fact? About the passage?”

Stephen Periwinkle hesitated a little before giving her a cautious nod. Elena scrutinized him carefully, and she couldn’t do it without a degree of amusement. “You’ve got this place totally sussed out, haven’t you?”

A rare smile appeared on Stephen’s face although he said nothing.

“So I’m sure you know where that passage leads to?”

He nodded, and the smile became a little mischievous.

Elena waited a few seconds before asking the next crucial question. “Will you show me?”

Stephen, too, waited before the replied; he scrutinized her face. Then he said, “I would show a friend.”

“I _am_ your friend”, Elena said and it felt entirely sincere.

“A friend with secrets”, Stephen said, “and a friend who knows how to lie.”

“I don’t lie to my friends.”

“One shouldn’t lie to one’s friends”, Stephen commented, “but friends should share their secrets.”

“I think so, too”, she said warmly, but then her face became serious. “There’s one thing I should probably tell you”, she mused, feeling insecure. “Just so that you don’t … misunderstand me. – There is someone … a man … who means a lot to me. To be quite honest, I’m head over heels in love with him.”

There was a faint look of astonishment on Stephen’s face; it was clear that he didn’t get the relevance of what she was telling him and Elena breathed with relief. She saw now that she was the one who had misunderstood, and that she had allowed Magrathea’s ‘warning’ – _“you might not be able to get rid of him”_ – to mislead her. “I just thought … that you should know …”, she stammered.

“But I _do_ know”, Stephen said with a shrug.

Elena stared. So he, too, had heard about her involvement with Draco? “Oh …”, she issued, feeling uncomfortable.

“I’ve _seen_ you, remember?”

Again, she stared; opened her mouth, closed it again. Only after a while she dared a weak, “So you’ve seen _that_ , too?”

“I saw the sentiment. Not the person it refers to.”

Elena had sensed all along that there was more to Stephen than met the eye. Now she was certain. He might be considered an idiot and dimwit by a lot of people, but Elena saw how Stephen might even welcome this attitude because it ensured that he was mostly left alone and free to pursue his interests. He was resourceful, and over the years he had found a way of getting back at the world that treated him so poorly. He might not be able to lie, but he certainly knew how to keep the odd ace up his sleeve. The fact that people didn’t see how smart he was had become the axis on which he operated and exacted his subtle revenge.

“Alright”, Elena said suggestively, “so you know another one of my secrets. Very clever. – Anything else that you know?”

Another vague grin. “I know that you’re not here for learning.”

She stifled a groan. Was it that obvious?? But then she realized that it probably wasn’t obvious to anyone but Stephen Periwinkle. She recovered and said, “Well, you’re exactly right. – But, Stephen! No one must know this!”

“I’m not stupid”, he said with dignity.

“I never said you were”, Elena pointed out. “But you must know that this is a huge secret. No one must find out or I’ll get into real trouble!”

“Oh yes, you will. But I won’t tell.”

“What are you going to do when somebody asks you? If you’re asked for an opinion on me?”

“Nobody is interested in my opinion”, Stephen said reasonably, “but if they ask I will say that you’re very clearly a Muggle-born.”

It made her sputter with laughter. Of course, that she was clearly a Muggle-born was the complete truth, but the comment also had the merit of ending any discussion as for most witches and wizards it was an obvious dismissal. “Alright”, Elena said after she’d calmed down, “so you know another one of my secrets.”

“And I’m going to tell you one of mine”, Stephen promised. There was an eagerness in his voice. He was really dying to share what he knew with someone that he could trust.

“When?”

“Soon.” Stephen pushed himself away from the façade. “I have to find a good time to do it. And it’s got to be at night. You’ll have to stay behind.”

“I’ll figure something out”, she promised.

“Good. – But now you have to go. They’re down to the last carriage.”

“What about you? Don’t you go back with them?”

Stephen shook his head. “No. I’m doomed to stay here permanently.”

“Why?” She frowned.

“My father doesn’t want me at home. He says I upset him.”

Again, she felt painfully what his life must be like; lonely; isolated. “I met your father”, she told him, “just once. To be quite honest with you, I didn’t like him much.”

She had said it to comfort him, but once again Stephen surprised her. “My father is a good man. Deep down. It’s just … over time a lot of things have come in the way. Piling up on the goodness.”

‘Whatever that means’, Elena thought sarcastically, but she was glad that Stephen had obviously found a way to deal with his father emotionally, that he saw him as a flawed person, even had pity on the man.

There was a call from the front yard, announcing the departure of the last carriage. Frantically, Elena gathered up her stuff and mumbled a quick “Good night” in Stephen’s direction. However, she found that he had already turned and was now walking away into the nightly shadows. So she took off, ran as fast as she could and was only just in time before the Hippogriffs spread their wings to fly away. The carriage was full, but she managed to squeeze in on one of the cushioned benches, completely ignoring the glares of her fellow students.

Elena felt light, excited. Going into the academy didn’t feel useless anymore. She was going to find out at least some of its secrets and, what was more, she had an ally. During the ride, she thought about what she was going to find out. Secret underground passages, originating from a grave … it was enough to make her shudder. However, there was another realization that heightened her excitement even more; because the way she saw it, there was now a valid reason to ask Severus for a meeting. And if she was lucky, it would be tonight ….

 

 


	26. Going Gothic

**Going Gothic**

 

On this very day, however, a meeting with Elena was the last thing on Severus Snape’s mind. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t think about her at all – he did so every day, to a degree that he found ridiculous sometimes. The truth was that he was busy. Not with ordinary teaching stuff; thankfully, he was relieved of that this afternoon due to an orientation event for all years in the Great Hall for which his presence wasn’t required. It left him free to pursue his own interests, and hence shortly after lunch and having made sure that Horace Slughorn was out of the way, Severus had locked himself up in an old and now largely unused potions classroom in the Hogwarts dungeons.

A cauldron was simmering over a small fire in a sooty corner. Snape checked on the contents, fanned the fumes into his face to check on the smell and gave off a satisfied grunt. He added a range of powders that he’d brought from his private stocks and watched closely as the colour of his potion changed subtly. After a while, he whipped out his wand, directed it at the almost boiling liquid and – with a concentration that brought beads of sweat to his forehead – reeled off a long and complicated incantation. Immediately after that, he skimmed off the thick foam that had formed on top, chilled it with a cooling spell until it was no more than a small and compact piece of sponge on the palm of his hand. He looked at it, sighed, and with a look of disgust bit into it. Chewing was hard, swallowing and not gagging on it even harder, but he was determined. The means to stunning magical ends were often disagreeable and Snape knew all about sacrifice.

When he was sure that the foam sponge inside his system was beginning to take effect, he extinguished the fire, threw over his cloak and left Hogwarts at a swift pace. The taste in his mouth was sour, but he felt the magic working in his body, coursing through his veins. Untraceable Potion. It had taken him an entire night’s search in the library to unearth the recipe, but it would be worth the effort. If the Ministry of Magic was really monitoring his every move, they would have a hard time today and that was enough to put an evil smile on Severus’ face as he walked towards the Apparition spot near the Forbidden Forest, from where – after a last quick look around – he vanished with the usual crack.

* * *

 

He touched down at an abandoned factory site. It was a dismal place just outside of Glasgow, and as Snape arrived a bitter cold downpour somewhere between rain and snow whipped his face. He sought shelter under the projecting roof of an old, viciously vandalized staff canteen and looked around. The place smelt of wear, rust and machine oil gone bad. The factory buildings were sinister grey oblongs, dreary reminders of a time when this had been an industrious place; now they had become the tombstones of the principle they stood for.

Snape wasn’t too impressed by the dreariness. He knew it well, he had grown up in an area similar to this. It did, however, stir memories. For the time it took an eye to blink, he had a vision of his father. Not the formidable threatening version of the man that usually occurred to him; no, it was his father lying on the sofa, bathed in his own cold sweat and pleading _“You_ can _help me, son, can’t you?”_ Irritated by this flashback, Snape jolted himself into action and walked out from under his shelter over the dreary, brown-puddled factory yard towards one of the larger buildings. Icy drops wet his scalp and he gritted his teeth.

He came to a dented iron door that he opened with an impatient _Alohomora_. It led him into a large production hall that was empty except for piles of scrap metal and an abandoned machine that looked like an immovable monster, frozen in time. Snape’s steps reverberated on the stone floor and he moved cautiously, checking several times behind his back. However, there appeared to be no one around. He started to wonder whether this lead of Narcissa’s would get him anywhere.

Severus crossed the hall, then the next directly adjacent to it, yet another large space with rusty conveyor belts and an iron staircase leading to the second floor. He went up, found himself in a long narrow room lined with empty metal shelves, obviously an abandoned storage. Again, no sign of human presence. Or that was what he thought at first, before he heard the noises and stopped short in order to listen.

Music. Voices and laughter. The sounds came from the far side of the building and Snape hesitated briefly before he walked on in the direction from which they originated.

He came into what appeared to have been an office space once. Broken desks and swivelling chairs were pushed against the wall and rough brick pillars supported the wide low ceiling, the high windows were covered in dirt. And there was also a sickly sweet and at the same time sharp smell wafting towards Snape along with a new bout of laughter.

At the end of the room, a small group had gathered around a portable radiator. A ghetto blaster was blaring in a corner. At a glance, Severus saw that the figures huddled in a circle were very young people who probably had no business being here. He also noticed that they were all dressed in black, had extravagant hairdos in pitch-black and faces so pale it was obvious they were made-up.

Snape hesitated. He felt as disinclined as ever to talk to Muggles. But hell, these were no more than teenagers, and he had a feeling that they spent an awful lot of time here and might be able to give him some information.

So he walked up to them. One of the boys saw him and jumped up. He was very tall, surely no less than 6’4’’, and the black Mohawk haircut with its purple strands made him tower even higher. He shushed his chuckling mates and jerked his chin in Snape’s direction, prompting the others to turn around with wary stares. Severus saw another boy hectically drop the spliff they’d been passing around. The volume of the music was swiftly turned down.

“What’s up?” the Mohawk boy asked and looked Snape up and down. “Did the city council send ya?”

Severus said nothing. It was his experience that not giving anything away usually made the other party talk. He felt superior enough to not even bother to check for his wand; instead, he just looked around pointedly, took in the faces. There were a couple of girls, too, no older than sixteen perhaps and dressed in unrelieved black, like Greek widows. They all wore heavy black eyeliner, even the boys.

“Another bouncer?” This from one of the girls. “Fuck that, my gran could wrestle him down …”

“Wimp”, someone growled.

Severus ignored the interjections with the nonchalance of someone who knew that he could best these teens with a mere wave of the hand; the only thing he gave them was an interested and at the same time infinitely sardonic look.

“Sorry, mate”, said the tall boy to Snape, “but we’re not gonna go. You people are trying to make us, but it’ll need a little more than just you to drive us out.”

“I haven’t come to evict you”, Snape drawled lazily.

Someone whooped. “Uh-oh, they sent us a posh one …”

“What are you here for then?”

But again, Severus didn’t grace the tall boy with a reply. “Shouldn’t you all be in school?” he asked instead.

Neighing laughter answered.

“School’s out”, the Mohawk boy said with a broad grin, “been out for a long time.”

“I see”, said Snape, “and instead you spend most of your time here?”

“What’s it to you, _chicken chest_?” hissed the second girl.

“Hey, easy!” The Mohawk boy appeared to be their leader and in fact there was something about him – a very subtle superiority – that made the others heed his words. Sure enough, the girl gave him a finger, but it was obvious to Severus that this was their usual way of showing each other affection. The tall boy turned to Snape again. “No manners, them”, he said with a sarcastic sneer, “but she’s right, you know, why are you so bloody interested?”

“Because I’m looking for someone”, Snape replied.

They stared at him blankly for a few seconds before the sneers resurfaced.

“So you’ve lost someone?” The tall boy again. “Let me guess: your little girl’s gone off and you’re afraid she got in with the wrong element? The likes of us and shit?” He grinned broadly, showing studs on his teeth.

“We’re not gonna rat on anybody”, another boy informed Snape.

“Maybe there was a reason she ran away?” one of the girls piped up shrilly. “Maybe she couldn’t face her asshole dad anymore?”

Snape rolled his eyes, then breathed. At Hogwarts, he would never have tolerated being spoken to like that. These kids, however, were not under his jurisdiction, they might not even be under ordinary society’s. That again made them worthwhile sources of information. As much as he resented it, he had to keep his cool with these brats for a little while longer. “I’m not looking for a girl”, he snarled, “but a man. An old man, in fact, his name is Abelard Ainsworth. I was told that this is the place where he’s currently living.”

“All kinds of bums come here”, the tall boy said, “you should come back at night.”

Snape twitched. “Do you know the guys who usually frequent this place? The _bums_ , as you say.”

“Some”, the boy replied with a shrug. “How does your guy look like?”

It was hard to describe a man who hadn’t been seen for years, and even harder to describe someone who’d had the Azkaban experience in the meantime. Severus did as best he could. However, all he got were blank stares. He had to try harder. “I can’t really say how he looks these days. But if you have met him, I’d say you’d remember. You might remember that this man was … peculiar in some way. Behaving strangely, maybe …”

“All the bums behave like that ‘cause they’re off their rocker!”

“… or in some other way … _special_.” This last word Severus growled because he found that his own words sounded clumsy and ridiculous.

“In’t we all special?” the Mohawk boy chuckled.

They all grinned at Snape. Only one of the girls appeared to be thinking. “Now wait a minute”, she said suddenly, “I think he means Old Abe.”

The others raised their brows at her, then sniggered. It seemed to be some private joke.

“Yeah? You’re looking for Old Abe?” the Mohawk boy asked.

“Sounds right”, Snape murmured.

“What d’ya want with him?”

“Find him. Talk to him. I’ve known him for years.”

The boy scrutinized Snape with narrowed eyes, he didn’t appear to quite believe him. “Talk to him. That all?”

“Yes.”

The Mohawk boy hesitated and Snape sensed a protective vibe there.

“Well”, said the boy, “you’re out of luck. He’s gone.”

“Gone where?”

A shrug. “Dunno. One day he was gone. Didn’t even say good-bye. Not that we’re so formal …”

“So you knew him well? Saw him often?”

“Sometimes. – He was a little mad, but funny. And weed made him even funnier.” The boy smiled amusedly at the memory of a stoned old man.

“Do you know what he was doing all day?”

“Nope. Apart from being a bum, that is.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

The Mohawk boy turned to his friends for confirmation. “Must’ve been about … ten days, maybe?”

The others nodded and looked bored.

“Was there anything he said about his plans? Or anything peculiar, for that matter?”

Unanimous shakes of the head.

Snape sighed. Narcissa’s tip appeared to be valid, however, he’d acted upon it too late. Now Ainsworth was gone. Had he been warned? If so, by whom? Anyway, there was nothing to be done for Severus anymore. “Never mind”, he growled, turned and walked away without another word. What a bloody waste of time!

“Oi! Wait a minute!”

He stopped. The Mohawk boy came running after him, in his wake followed the girl who’d first mentioned ‘Old Abe’. Snape observed curiously as they exchanged meaningful looks. “What is it?”

“Is he in any trouble?” the girl asked and she seemed adamant.

“Not that I know of”, Snape lied. “Why?”

“Tracy here was kind of in love with him”, fibbed the boy and received a fierce nudge in the side in return. “Nah, it’s just … he was nice, Old Abe. In his way. A little crazy, as I said. But we all liked him. He used to call us … what was it, Trace? … _Muggles_? Don’t know what he meant by that, it was just one of his words.”

“He could do tricks”, the girl supplied, “like, magical ones. I asked him how he did it, but he wouldn’t tell.”

“Magicians never give away their tricks”, the boy argued reasonably while Snape bit the inside of his lower lip. It never got old, Muggles stumbling over magic and being completely clueless about it.

“Is this going anywhere?” he asked, looking back and forth between Mohawk and Tracy.

“Old Abe left behind his stash”, the boy explained, “we thought you might be interested?”

The corners of Severus’ mouth twitched. “I am”, he admitted, carefully inclining his head.

The boy grinned, then gestured for Snape to follow him. Hand in hand with the girl called Tracy, he led the way out of the large room, down the metal staircase, then through a flight of halls and down to the cellar where a strong stink of sweat and urine assaulted Severus’ nose. His two young guides, however, didn’t even flinch; they were used to the place. And they obviously knew it well since they took the turns without hesitation until they arrived at a lockable partition the door of which, however, was open a gap. Mohawk boy tugged at the door and gestured for Snape to step into the small spaced enclosed by rough wooden beams. Severus did so, but not without giving the two teenagers a suspicious look and secretly checking for his wand. He found the eagerness with which they’d offered help unusual, to say the least; it wasn’t the way Muggles usually behaved towards him and he wondered why those two were different.

When Severus brushed past the boy into the compartment, he saw that the latter eyeing him up and down. “Cool garb, by the way”, the boy said, “where d’you shop?”

At first, Severus suspected ridicule. It hardly ever happened that anyone complimented him on his clothes, and certainly not Muggles. Then he saw the reluctant respect in Mohawk boy’s eyes and realized that he had managed to stumble over the only kind of Muggle who would not be put off by his sinister attire. In fact, it suddenly became very clear to him that the reason why they had taken him here and appeared to trust him was that, like them, he was dressed in unrelieved black. It appeared to signal a kindred spirit to them and once more Snape found that he had to keep himself from grinning at the irony of it. “Secret”, he murmured instead and turned to take in the contents of the cellar compartment.

Thankfully, the smell wasn’t any worse in the cramped space. There were crates piled up on one another, and in a corner a blanket and a greasy pillow were spread out on the floor, both looking crumpled and used. There was a folded-up sleeping bag, as well, and by instinct Severus lifted and shook it. A plastic bag fell out and thudded onto the floor.

Severus looked up at the teenagers who stood by the door and watched him curiously. There was a glimmer in both their eyes and suddenly Snape knew what it was. They sensed something about him; it was probably unconscious, they might not realize that they were held spellbound by the air of magic that surrounded him as much as it had ‘Old Abe’ Ainsworth.

He picked up the plastic bag and unpacked it, only to find several smaller packages containing herbs, and Snape recognized them as common potions ingredients. There were also rolls of paper covered in tiny handwriting that was impossible to decipher in the dim cellar light. And a small card, made of reinforced paper with a stylized design on it. Intrigued, Snape read what was quite obviously a business card.

 

**_Biocelos Ltd._ **

_Nicholas Summers, PhD_

_Junior Scientific Counsellor_

_Phone: +44 …_

_…_

 

Severus turned around to the teenagers who were, however, presently engaged in heavy smooching. They were quite uninhibited about it; there were lusty smacks and visible tongues. A scathing comment was on the tip of Snape’s, but he thought twice and only discreetly cleared his throat. When he had their grinning attentions, he showed them the card. “Any idea who this is?”

Mohawk boy eyed the card, then shook his head disinterestedly; he clearly wanted to get back to kissing. However, the girl gave him another meaningful glance.

“Don’t you remember the suit that was here?” she asked.

“The _suit_?” Snape repeated.

“Guy in a suit”, Mohawk boy explained, “business type. Trace’s right, he came here a few times to visit Abe. That was quite a while ago, though. We reckoned he was some family member who kept tabs on him …”

But Tracy interrupted fiercely. “That’s bullshit, Abe hated the guy!”

Snape looked her up and down. She was a scrappy little thing with a pronounced pout, rendered more dramatic by the blackish purple colour on her lips, now completely smeared. “You appear to have been close to Ainsworth”, he observed, careful not to put any judgment into his words.

“He talked to me”, the girl admitted with her ‘What’s it to you’ shrug.

“Did he tell you what that man wanted of him?”

But either she didn’t know or didn’t want to tell. “I only know that he bothered Abe, that a couple of suit guys were constantly on his back. I don’t know for what, though; I asked him, but he wouldn’t say, except for that he had once been a ‘very significant man’. He was probably bullshitting me; and I guess he probably owed them money or some shit like that. I mean, when the suits turn up, it’s mostly about money, isn’t it?”

However, Snape doubted that. Fascinated, he stared at the business card. He had an idea and put it into his pocket. There was yet another item left in the plastic bag. It was heavier than the others and rolled up in a piece of tattered cloth. Snape took the bundle and unwrapped it carefully. Out came what looked like an ordinary ballpoint pen, of the kind a Muggle might use. However, it was not this – Ainsworth possessing a pen when he would most certainly use quills for writing – that immediately jolted Severus into apprehension; what put him on edge was realizing immediately that the ballpoint was dead, no more than a piece of pointed metal. This wasn’t a pen; it was an item made to look like one. He sensed danger and was careful not to touch the pen with bare fingers, keeping the cloth around it. Then he noticed the inscription on the side of the pen: _Biocelos Ltd._ – _Manufacturing Excellence_. He stared at it with a frown on his face before he showed the slogan to the teenagers. “Does this mean anything to you?”

They stared at the words for a while. “Pharmaceutical company”, Mohawk boy snarled, “those are the worst.”

“You heard of them?”

“No, not of this one. But it’s obvious from the name what they do. – Believe me, man, you want nothing to do with pharma guys. What these people do – it’s black magic.”

Again, Snape had to bite down on a smirk and made to carefully pocket the pen.

“Wait a minute”, Tracy piped up, and her voice sounded shrill, “why are you taking all of Abe’s stuff with you?”

“I’d say he doesn’t need it anymore”, Snape said smoothly.

“But what if he comes back??”

“I don’t think this will happen.”

“How can you tell?”

“As I’ve told you, I know the man.”

“Yeah, but anyone can say _that_!” To Snape’s surprise, the girl called Tracy stepped up and blocked his way. “I want you to give back Abe’s stuff!” she demanded bolshily. “We didn’t show you all this so that you can just help yourself and take what you like!”

“Why did you show me, then?” Severus asked sarcastically.

Her eyes flickered and she glanced over her shoulder at Mohawk boy. It was then that Snape realized that they had, of course, hoped for money in exchange for showing him Ainsworth’s stuff. But even if he’d had Muggle money on himself, he wouldn’t have parted with it for them. Although he wasn’t too optimistic, he gave reasonable argument a try.

“It’s better if I take these things with me”, he said, “and give it back to your … friend when I see him.”

“You’re not his friend!” Tracy hissed angrily. “No way I’m going to let you take his things!”

She came closer, made a grab for the pen, but Snape was faster, held it above his head, out of her reach. But it had only been a manoeuvre. In the next moment, she pushed him hard against the wall and to his utter surprise, he felt her hand fumbling for the pocket of his cloak, all the while staring into his eyes with the expression of an angered wild animal. She had guts, Severus noted, one had to give her that. Swiftly he grabbed her hand, pushed her away from him and Tracy stumbled a bit, which in turn made Mohawk boy stir.

“Come on, man! That’s not cool!” he shouted and came towards Snape with angry eyes.

Severus sighed inwardly. He had hoped that it wouldn’t come to this; after all, they were only teenagers. Lazily, he muttered a spell, and in the next moment they both fell to the ground. The girl he grabbed just in time to ease her fall, but he didn’t care about Mohawk boy who hit Ainsworth’s camp site with a thud. In the next moment, the boy lay on his stomach, issuing raspy snores. They were both sound asleep now – using a Stunning Spell on two young Muggles would have constituted excessive force – and wouldn’t come to within the next ten minutes. It was enough for Snape to calmly pack up Ainsworth’s possessions, give the cramped space a last survey and take off, carefully stepping over the two peacefully sleeping bodies.

 

* * *

 

His house at Spinner’s End was quiet. For a few moments after stepping out of the fireplace, Severus could have persuaded himself that no one was about, that this dreary abode once again belonged solely to him. Then he saw the basket with the self-knitting needles dumped on his sofa; the discarded shawl on his desk; smelt a flowery incense that hadn’t been here before – in short, the signs of a feminine and, worse, maternal presence were all over the place. However, the formidable witch connected to it was nowhere to be seen. The quiet was so complete it made him suspicious and he decided to explore a little.

First things first, though. He went to the window and stared across the street, looking for the orange glow of the Chinese lampion. However, Elena’s window was dark. Severus checked the clock. Maybe it was still too early for her to be home, although it was already quite dark outside, but then the shortest day of the year was only about a week away. So he ignored the feeling of nervousness that the dark window invariably evoked and went to the kitchen.

He found Gilly there, standing up on a stool to make up for her shortness and cutting vegetables on the kitchen counter. As always, he’d come in so quietly that the small creature got a shock when he cleared his throat right behind her. It took her the fraction of a second to recover before she presented him with a servile smile. “Master! Gilly didn’t expect you this early.”

“Obviously”, he drawled lazily. He looked around. “Where is Madam … my mother?”

For a reason that was hard to fathom, Gilly blushed. “Not here”, she said in a small voice.

Snape’s eyebrow quirked. There was something about Gilly that always made her betray herself, even if he hadn’t realized she had something to hide in the first place. So the fact that his mother was out upset her somehow. He wondered why.

“I can see that”, he said as calmly as he could, “where did she go?”

“Out … to … visit friends”, Gilly replied after much fidgeting.

“My mother has no friends”, he growled, discounting Callistus Applethorne for the sake of the argument. “Are you lying to me?”

Gilly’s eyes became very wide. “Lie … Gilly … no!”

He gave her his most sinister stare. “I don’t like being lied to”, he informed her with calm menace.

The little house-elf gulped, staring at Snape’s dark form looming over her. “Yes master”, she breathed.

“So. Where did Madam Prince go to?”

Gilly’s shoulders slumped. “To the cemetery”, she said with the air of someone who had no choice but to give up.

“The _cemetery_?”

“Yes. To see Mr Tobias.”

Now this was entirely unexpected. For a few seconds, Snape didn’t know what to say. When he found his voice, it was a little hoarse. “You must be mistaken.”

Gilly shook her head gravely. “Gilly not mistaken. Mistress Prince go almost every day.”

“Why would she go to the cemetery every day to visit _my father_?” However, that question was more intended for himself then for Gilly whose ears dropped a little further.

“It is so. Gilly know. Mistress Prince make Gilly go to the greenhouse on Mill Road every day to get fresh gardenias. For Mr Tobias, she say.”

Abruptly, Severus turned his back to her, as if irritated beyond measure. In actual fact, however, he was upset; and he wasn’t able to even begin to explain why. The only thing he knew was that he had a knot in his gut, a knot he knew well, the one of ill foreboding.

“The master is angry”, Gilly said plaintively to his back.

He turned to look at the small creature, her wide eyes, her fidgeting. Saw that once more she was caught between loyalties. He breathed, when he’d much rather have spit. “No”, he said with an irritably headshake. “Did she tell you not to tell me?”

Gilly didn’t answer; she stammered. When after almost a minute she hadn’t issued anything comprehensible, Severus had his reply. Secrets, once more. But then, when hadn’t his mother had any of these? Only when he’d been a kid, she’d hidden her secrets away from his father; now she hid them from her son, the roles reversed. – No, that was a tad dramatic, he saw that quite well. There was nothing he could truly say against his mother visiting his father’s grave; this was what anyone would expect a widow to do, at least occasionally.

But why now, when she had never bothered before? And why had she come to Spinner’s End at all, why spin a supposed seven-days’-stay into a continuously expanding sojourn? Severus had the ugly feeling that it had nothing to do with him, with supporting him after his hearing or caring for his neck wound. True enough, his mother had done all this; but now he was almost certain that there had been an ulterior motive from the start. But if there was, what did it have to do with visiting the cemetery where Tobias Snape was buried, something which – for all he knew – she’d never cared about?

Gilly’s squeaky voice reached his ear. “… tell her? Please, master! Please don’t …”

“ _What_?” he hissed with a jerk of the head.

“Gilly ask the master not to tell the mistress …”

Snape cut her short by an impatient wave of his hand. “Why would I perpetuate house-elf babble?” he murmured and left the kitchen, his frame twitching hard with suppressed anger. He didn’t understand the sentiment – why would he care what his mother did in her spare time? – but he felt an irresistible urge to indulge in it, let himself get swept away by it. And suddenly, he knew what it was: he felt betrayed. Betrayed by his mother keeping secrets from him while living here, occupying his space, changing the aura of his home, being the reason why he couldn’t have any visitors (though the truth was that he didn’t want anyone here while _she_ was there, least of all Elena).

Remembering Elena through the haze of his foul mood, he walked to the window, looked up. No orange light. He checked the time. Her lessons should have ended about an hour ago. Where _was_ she?

Severus swore under his breath, damned himself. He still hadn’t coaxed the location of the Academy out of her. What if something had happened, her cover been blown, for instance? He didn’t have a first idea on how to find her, or what to do in case. Raise all hell in the wizarding world, surely, to bring any kind of force down onto the Crowleys – black or white magic, he didn’t care – as much as he could. With a scoff, he saw that this had always been the half-assed plan he’d carried around in the back of his head.

By now he had begun pacing. Again and again, his eyes dashed over to the window, willing the Chinese lamp on the other side of the street to spring into life. He had to be careful not to inadvertently light it himself, by magic and from this distance, because he was thinking about it so hard. His mother and her excursions to the cemetery were suddenly forgotten. Ten minutes passed by. Twenty. The window on the other side of the road remained dark. He was glued to his own sitting-room window now, his restless eyes scanning the street outside that was doused in the weak light of a flickering street lamp.

He walked up and down the sitting room, unable to keep still, unable to sit down, and he swore to himself. He saw the irony of the situation very well. He had come to Spinner’s End in the evenings so many times by now, no more than casually checking for the orange light; but had he ever truly asked himself what to do if it wouldn’t come on one day? Ah, yes, he might have thought about it, and his line of thought had always ended at a vague ‘call in the Order’. But what could the Order of the Phoenix do if something happened to her, if she didn’t come back? They knew as little about where that Academy was as he did, and he hadn’t even sufficiently bothered to find out! Now he was here, not able to do anything useful. If he took off, he might miss her coming back; if he stayed and waited, it would be even worse with images of what might have happened to her piling up in his mind. The latter he tried to control – he was an expert in that, after all – but he could only do it for small stretches before the worry invariably came back.

The longer he paced, the more constricted his throat became, and with it the urge to roar out his irritation. His eyes dashed back and forth between the bedroom window of the opposite house and the grandfather clock in the corner of his sitting room. The sharp click of the door made him turn around.

“Where have _you_ been?!?” he spat out as soon as he beheld his mother on the doorstep. She was still in her pointed hat and her usually pallid cheeks had become reddish with the cold outside; her hands were in mittens.

“Out”, she replied with a sneer around her lips, “why? Is that a crime now?”

“Out _where_?” he asked and had no idea how challengingly his eyes were glittering. He was looking for an opportunity to vent his anger and saw it on the horizon.

Eileen gave him a curious glance. “Out walking”, she said, unfazed, “I do it every day, it’s good for my joints.”

“And where, mother, do you walk to every day?” The acid was dripping from his words now. He ached for the moment when she would lie to his face and he had a good reason to explode.

Eileen, however, knew him well and was on her guard. “Why are you so interested, Severus? Usually, you don’t give a hoot about what I’m doing and where I’m going all day. And you only ever grace me with your presence when you get worried for your little ingénue over there …”

“ _DON’T_ talk about her!” he hissed. “Tell me why you came here!”

“But Severus, you know exactly that I came here because …”

“DON’T!” he bellowed. “Do you think I’m stupid?!?”

“No, sweetheart”, Eileen said coolly, “only you’re about to have one of your tantrums. Those don’t get any better with age, do they?” A sickly sweet smile appeared on her lips.

Severus stared at her. He had no clue how she did it, how she always managed to shut him up, to make the words get stuck in his mouth. She didn’t even say anything particularly provoking or maddening; yet it was a power she’d always had over him – she, who’d cowered in front of his father, whimpering, pleading. He couldn’t bring it into unison – her sarcasm, her harshness, her secretiveness on the one hand, and the hopeless submissiveness he’d witnessed as a child on the other. Something about this chasm made him sick to his stomach, and it was also like a vertigo he couldn’t resist. It was a little like smelling something rotten, yet not being able to resist sniffing. And then there was this itch called ‘Elena’ that didn’t allow him to catch his breath.

“What are you doing at the cemetery every day?” he asked in a growl.

Eileen stared at him once more, then sneered. “That idiotic little house-elf …”

“It’s bloody stupid of you, mother, to swear her into your little secrets and expect her to keep them! You know exactly what kind of situation you’re putting her into, but – if truth be told – you enjoy that, don’t you?”

“What are you saying, Severus?” Eileen’s voice had a shrill sound to it that betrayed her alarm.

“That it’s all about power for you. Either you’re on top and you let everyone know; or you’ve found your master and then you’ll grovel, grovel with relish, that is, for years and years, ‘til something suddenly snaps …”

“WATCH YOUR TONGUE, YOUNG MAN!” Eileen shouted, red-hot anger in her eyes. She suddenly looked impressive, filling the doorway, even her hair appeared to be standing up, one could have thought she was the direct descendent of a Celtic banshee. This was the way in which she’d kept him in line as a child, and he felt with irritation that it still had some effect on him. At the same time, it was comic; the way she was invoking her maternal power; the way she called him ‘young man’ as if he was a recalcitrant adolescent and not a weathered wizard who’d seen it all. Severus felt himself teeter on the edge between exploding and laughing hysterically.

It was in this moment that he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye; a movement out on the street, coming closer to the Crawford house. He twitched. Stared at his mother. In the time it took an eye to blink, he realized how futile this row was. He gritted his teeth and walked to the door that Eileen was blocking. There was a flicker in her eyes when he came swiftly towards her, as if of fear. Had she, for the briefest moment, seen her deceased husband in his face? But she composed herself, straightened her shoulders, was all set to stand up to him.

Her eyes became very wide when all Severus did was push her aside and brush past her out of the sitting room.

“Where are you going??” she screeched.

“If I hear one word of you giving Gilly hell”, he hissed over his shoulder, “I’m going to throw you out of this house! Mother or not, I don’t care!”

“Severus! Stay here!!”

But he ignored her and breezed out of the house. Inside, he was trembling with anger. At the same time, part of him was distant and observed the turmoil of emotions that he found so hard to battle right now. This aloof part of him wondered what was going on, why his composure had so utterly left him. Worry for Elena, of course, it always upset him; but that was only a portion. What had initially thrown him was the news of his mother visiting the cemetery. But why? Why had this simple fact so put him on edge, as if he sensed something dodgy there?

He pushed the thought out of his mind, and with some relief, too. With flying steps, he crossed the street and caught up with Elena, just as she was about to let herself in by the front door. Once again, his approach was so noiseless that she wheeled around in shock when he grabbed her elbow.

“Where have you _been_??” he hissed at her. At the periphery of his mind, Severus realized that he sounded like a broken record.

It took her a few seconds to recover, and she gulped. “Library”, she sputtered, “the public one on Diagon Alley? I had to look up something, you won’t believe what I …”

“I’ve been _waiting_ for you” he broke in, and his fingers dug into the flesh of her arm, “I was _worried_!”

Snape noted how pathetic he sounded. As if the world stood still, only because she’d made him wait a while. The aloof part of him realized quite well that he was being overly dramatic, but he needed this now, he needed her to be intense and he needed her to assure him. Her gaze was wide and curious.

“I’m sorry”, she whispered, “I didn’t know you were waiting …”

“This can’t go on”, he interrupted, the words tumbling out frantically, “if anything happens, I don’t even know where to look for you, I _have_ to find a way of getting the location of that academy out of you …”

“That’s not possible!” she blurted out, but her eyes were kind. “Don’t you think I’d want you to know? I’ve tried several ways around it, to word it so that you’d understand, but the truth is that I only have to think of the place and my head starts to hurt – it’s hurting right now! – and I cannot even write it down, let alone paraphrase it …”

“There’s a way”, he breathed, “a procedure. It’s very complicated, and you’d have to trust me … trust me completely …”

“I _do_ trust you”, she said without hesitation.

“We need to do it _now_ ”, he said urgently, not realizing that he still held her arm in a tight grip.

Elena scrutinized his face. “Why are you so upset, Severus?”

He opened his mouth, closed it again.

“What happened?” she asked adamantly.

He sighed. “My blasted mother …” he murmured in spite of himself.

Elena’s eyebrows shot up. The look she gave him was curious, and examining the expression on his face appeared to tell her something. “Come inside”, she said gently, “you can tell me all about it.”

He hesitated, not quite sure himself whether he wanted to talk about it when he couldn’t even begin to explain what irked him so much. Eventually, however, he inclined his chin and breathed a grumpy “Alright.”

Elena nodded and fumbled for her key again. It was hopeless with her, she was so used to using keys that she never remembered the _Alohomora_. Severus didn’t comment on it, though, and let her do as she pleased. However, before she could insert the key into the hole, the front door was drawn open with a jerk.

“There you are!” Anna Crawford cried as she appeared on the doorstep. “What took you so long?”

Elena was taken aback; while she was still looking for words to explain herself, her aunt spotted Snape who’d taken a step back when the door had suddenly opened, drawing back into the shadows by instinct. “Oh!” the old woman said. “I should have known.”

“I had stuff to do in town”, Elena started to explain, “for my thesis …”

“Of course”, Anna Crawford said a little haughtily, not believing one word “come inside now. You have a visitor.”

“A visitor?” Elena looked back and forth between her aunt and Severus, seemed insecure.

“I’ll see you tomorrow”, Snape murmured, taking another step back. As always, the old woman’s appearance had taken the wind out of his sail.

“But …” Elena’s hand came up, as if she wanted to grab him and hold him back.

“Tomorrow”, Snape repeated, staring into her eyes and willing her to accept his retreat.

“Wait a minute, Severus!” The voice that had spoken was neither Anna Crawford’s nor Elena’s, and Snape looked up spot someone who had appeared behind the old woman on the doorstep. “It’s good you’re here. I had hoped I’d meet you both.”

On the threshold stood Remus Lupin. He looked a little dishevelled, more so than usually. His clothes were crumpled, his eyes a little blood-shot, and there was a nervous tic under the right one, as well as a sardonic grin on his face. He looked Snape up and down at first, then Elena, and his grin deepened, though it was a little forced.

“Please come inside”, Lupin demanded. “We need to talk.”

 


	27. Extraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, it’s been a long time since I’ve updated; my life is still a little crazy right now for various reasons, but I haven’t dropped this story and hope that I can compensate you with TWO long chapters instead of one. As you will see, this is a little special intermezzo and I’m sending Severus on a peculiar odyssey, hopefully with a reward at its end …
> 
> Thank you so much for your patience; I hope you will enjoy this.

**Extraction**

 

Elena and Severus followed Remus Lupin and Anna Crawford into the softly lighted sitting room where plates and cups on the low coffee table evidenced the fact that the werewolf had been waiting for some time. And as they went, it became obvious that Lupin had completely charmed off Anna’s usually reserved demeanour, because she was beaming and giggling at him like a young girl. As soon as they reached the sitting room, Elena saw the reason for Anna’s elation: a little boy, no more than eighteen months old, at on a blanket, gnawed on the ear of a stuffed donkey and seemed like the perfect gift for an old lady. The child looked up in mild surprise as the adults entered – he obviously hadn’t missed them – and then gave a tentative smile.

In spite of herself, Elena issued a cooing noise and went over to him. “You brought your son”, she observed with a radiant smile to Remus and picked up another stuffed animal to let hop around in front of the child’s mildly curious eyes.

“Yes. This is Teddy”, Remus said and his face was glowing with pride as he smiled at his son. “Had to bring him. Won’t let him out of my sight these days.”

Elena caught something in his voice. “Did anything happen?”

“Of course it did”, snarled Snape who’d given Teddy Lupin no more than an edgy side glance, “otherwise he wouldn’t have come all this way.”

Anna Crawford looked cautiously from one to the other. “I understand you’ll all want to talk in private?” She sounded nervous.

Remus went over to her smoothly and took her old gnarled hand. When he looked into her face, it was with exquisite kindness. He thanked her for her hospitality, apologized for occupying her space and time, but – as he had explained before – he would indeed have to talk to her niece and Mr Snape alone; in all this he didn’t neglect to mention that Anna Crawford, of course, knew what was going on and that he had no doubt she’d understand. Elena watched in fascination as her aunt’s face split with a smitten smile, whereupon she assured Lupin that she, indeed, understood perfectly well, said a loving good-bye to little Teddy and vacated her own sitting room as if it was an honour.

“Nice one, Lupin”, sneered Severus as soon as Anna had left, “using a Mollifying Spell on an old woman. Rather sly for a Gryffindor, don’t you think?”

“I wasn’t mollifying her!” Lupin appeared scandalized for a moment, but also a little shame-faced. “And to be quite honest, I’m prepared to take my chances about being sly.”

Snape waved his hand impatiently. “What’s happening?”

Remus sighed. “There’s been an attack. On Nell Nolan.”

“ _What_??” For a few moments, Snape stood frozen. He remembered Nell Nolan, the woman who’d questioned him during the hearing and had really helped him, in a way he hadn’t immediately understood. He saw her face in front of his inner eye – the large blue eyes, the short hair that had turned completely white due to shock – and felt a pang of pity. “Is she alive?”

“Only just”, replied Remus and now the haggardness of his face became obvious. The shadows under his eyes were dark, the lines around his mouth seemed to have deepened. “She was attacked by a pack of rabid dogs. – Yes, dogs. I don’t know yet what happened exactly, if she was able to get them off herself at the last minute or if the dogs let off just in time on someone’s command … and it will be a while before we know because she is in really bad shape right now and the healers won’t let anyone talk to her.”

“Gosh, the poor woman”, breathed Elena.

Severus, too, looked glum. “Why Madam Nolan?” he asked after a while, muttering to himself.

“Didn’t you read about her speech in _The Prophet_?” Remus asked.

“Didn’t get round to read that rag much, lately.”

“It was about four days ago, in a Wizengamot debate. Nell was brave enough to broach the issue of an increasing atmosphere of bigotry and exaggerated control mechanisms in the wizarding world. She put her finger on the weak state our world is in right now, and that this weak state could be abused by the wrong element. It was a fantastic speech, everyone knew exactly what she meant, if they liked it or not! She pointed out – quite courageously, I think – that the Muggle world knows the mechanisms at work quite well, the ‘re-focussing of a society on its so-called ‘true and original values’, on a ‘we-against-the-others’ sentiment that usually results in nothing but fascism and ensures that we are headed from the frying pan right into the fire … – It was beautiful. Of course, not everyone agrees with me, being no more but a jilted Ministry official …”

“Didn’t you jilt yourself?” Snape broke in – he wasn’t prepared to take any pity on the man – but Lupin didn’t pay any attention.

“… especially the comparison to the Muggle world might have been a mistake, sure to enrage some people …”

“Reckless”, growled Snape, “you can’t say things like that.”

“Why not, if it’s the truth?!” argued Elena.

“You should know by now that nothing is less popular than the truth”, Severus murmured testily. He was still upset, even more so because this evening wasn’t going according to plan. Lupin certainly didn’t look like he would leave them alone any time soon. He watched Elena who’d squatted beside Teddy and was now talking to him softly. The little boy watched her, obviously quite intrigued by yet another auntie prepared to spoil him, and the colour of his hair changed into the hue of hers. It made Elena giggle – the worrying topic on the attack of Nell Nolan notwithstanding – as she gently pulled Teddy onto her lap and cooed to him. For some reason Severus found that he couldn’t look away from this – her tending to a small child as if it was the most natural thing in the world – but at the same time, it disconcerted him. Little Teddy caught his glare, stared at the sinister black-clad man and very subtly, his small baby nose started to change … Severus turned away with an irritated twitch. “Any leads?” he asked testily, jerking his chin at Lupin.

“How would I know? I’m not a Ministry official anymore.”

“Yeah, you chose a fantastic time to take your exit …”

“Leave him alone, Severus”, Elena said calmly. “So you haven’t heard from Harry for the details?” she asked, looking up at Remus. “He’s likely to be involved in the investigation, isn’t he?”

Remus looked ever grimmer. “Harry Potter has been struck down by a stomach bug. He hasn’t been on his post for days.”

“I may cry”, Severus murmured, half-gleeful because at last he was able to vent his irritation on a favourite object – Harry James Potter – but Remus raised a moody hand.

“Molly and Ginny say his vomit is green. They are sure he was … _interfered with_.”

“You mean … _poisoned_?” This last word Elena whispered with a side glance at Teddy who, of course, couldn’t possibly understand her, but enthusiastically stuck his soggy stuffed donkey into her face.

“Don’t worry, he’s not in any danger. There are loads of ways in the wizarding world to give someone a stomach bug, you know. All you need to do is go to a joke shop …”

“So it’s probably one of the Weasleys who’s behind it”, Severus drawled with evil pleasure.

“No. He received chocolates, with a card from Luna Lovegood. Turns out, she never sent him any chocolates. The whole thing was a ploy to keep the Boy Who Lived Once More out of the Ministry, not to involve him in the investigation on what happened to Nell, and not to give him any chance of doing something heroic again. – Of course, all of this means that there is a conspiracy. It’s no longer just a paranoid idea, but an actual fact.”

“Which we already knew. Problem is, we can’t prove it.”

“This is why I came. What have you found out so far? How are things going at the academy, Elena?”

Elena’s eyes flickered from Severus to Lupin before she sat Teddy down on his blanket, gave him the donkey and started to recount her day at the academy. She explained to Remus about the tentative friendship she was forging with Stephen Periwinkle, what the young man had promised he would do and about the regrettable fact that Magrathea Crowley did not appear at all inclined to open her academy to Draco Malfoy. “For some reason, she doesn’t buy it”, Elena said matter-of-factly.

“Maybe she’s just careful”, Remus suggested. “Considering what you’ve just told me … forbidden cemetery, secret underground passages … if this is all true, the Crowleys have a lot to hide.”

“And hopefully, I shall find out some of what they’re hiding.”

“That Christmas party you told me about”, Snape started, “it might be a good point in time … people being merry … drinking … not paying too much attention …”

“I’ve been thinking the same thing”, Elena said with a smile.

“Then again, security might be up on such an occasion”, Remus mused. “And if something dodgy _is_ going down at that academy, it would be stupid to let it happen during a festivity, with outsiders about.”

“A lot of outsiders also means that we might sneak someone in”, Snape proposed.

“How are you going to do this if you don’t know where the academy even is?”

However, Snape appeared sure of himself. “I’m going to get it out of her”, he said, turning his face to Elena.

She frowned, wondering what the ‘procedure’ he had suggested would be about. However, Snape dropped the subject right away. “I’ve had an interesting day, as well”, he announced, as per usual a little hesitantly, as if he wasn’t quite sure he even wanted to share it.

In the end, he did share his encounter with what Elena explained to him had been ‘Goths’ and showed her and Lupin the business card he had found among the stuff Abelard Ainsworth had left behind, not explaining too much on how he’d come by it – and he distinctly enjoyed being devoured by Elena’s curious eyes – but laying out his theory as he presented the card to the other two.

“As you know, I’ve been examining those satyrs. From the start, I was pretty certain they were manufactured by alchemistic processes, but what baffled me was the material. It appeared … not entirely natural to me. Synthetic, I thought. Which, however, I deemed impossible because that must mean that Muggles are involved, and I thought that not even Abelard Ainsworth would …” He broke off abruptly.

“Stoop so low”, Elena finished for him with a sour expression on her face. Snape twitched.

“Now, however …” he continued, once more fully irritated.

Remus Lupin was examining the business card. “ _Biocelos_ ”, he murmured, “that sounds like …”

“Pharma industry”, Snape smugly supplied his new knowledge.

“Ah”, Elena shook her head. “Not quite. Biotechnology. I have heard of Biocelos. They’re known for exploring the limits of genetical engineering, as far as the law allows.”

“Does that mean that they … create living beings?” Remus asked curiously.

“I’m not even sure they can do that. Or if they can, they wouldn’t want to let anyone know. There’s a _huge_ ethical debate going on in the Muggle world on this subject …”

“A grey zone?” Remus’ brows shot up. “Splendid, that’s all a couple of rebellious wizards need!” He looked at Snape. “Don’t you think?”

Severus nodded carefully. “It is certainly the best explanation at the moment for the kind of material I’ve found which appears to be a organic and synthetic mixture. Even the worms I’ve taken off one of the dead satyrs were partly synthetic creatures. Fact is also that the procedures required to do all this are not exactly … common in the wizarding world. So I can see no other explanation than …”

“… Muggles being involved”, Remus finished, “which, if it was true, would be a gross breach of the Statute of Secrecy and hence a severely punishable crime.”

In the meantime, Elena had picked up the business card and studied it. “I guess I have to check this guy out. Nicholas Summers.”

“Are you serious?” This from Severus, none-too-thrilled.

But Elena shrugged. “This is my world”, she said reasonably, waving the card. “I’ll phone them up, play a student – I wouldn’t even have to lie – telling them that I do a study on advances in biotechnology. Or better still, that I’m a journalist intending to write a benevolent article. Biotechnology sorely needs a good rep …”

“It’s not a bad idea”, Remus admitted. “And you certainly won’t run into anyone from the Academy at Biocelos …”

“What’s making you so certain about that?” Snape hissed, once again taking over the role of Cassandra. “If there really is a connection between the wizarding world and the Muggle one, culminating in the manufacture of highly dangerous magical creatures, then there’s certainly no telling at all what Elena might run into.”

“I’m going to be careful”, Elena murmured.

“You always say that”, Severus pointed out sourly.

Remus looked from one to the other and kept a straight face by biting his tongue. Patiently, he followed the ensuing bickering. In the end, they agreed that Elena would call up Biocelos as soon as she could to ask for an appointment with their public relations section and that they would take it from there, depending on the result. Since everything else that needed mentioning was already out in the open, the meeting didn’t take much longer.

“Are you alright, Remus?” Elena asked as she accompanied Lupin and little Teddy to the door. She had noticed his dishevelled state earlier, but had seen no opportunity of mentioning it.

“Look that bad to you, do I?” he replied with a friendly scoff.

“A little … I don’t know.” She saw no point in dishonesty, but didn’t know how to express it, either.

“Bummed-out?” Remus suggested and smiled crookedly while he hoisted Teddy up onto his shoulders, very much to the latter’s enjoyment. “You clearly haven’t concerned yourself with the papers much, lately, have you?”

“I’m going to school again”, she murmured darkly, “never mind that I have something going on in the Muggle world, as well.”

“Yes, these are difficult times”, his brow quirked ironically, “but at least you don’t have a smear campaign going on against yourself.”

“I beg your pardon??”

“Yes. Someone started the rumour that I was dishonourably discharged from the Ministry.”

“For what kind of dishonour?”

“I … can only guess … but I’d rather not. – Fact is, no one will give me a job. I wanted to go back to being a tutor, but that’s a sensitive field, parents will look twice where their children are concerned …”

“I see.” Absentmindedly, Elena reached up to Teddy and gently stroked his plump baby cheek. “Do you still have your apartment?”

“I do right now, but with things moving at this rate I’m going to have to move in with the Weasleys come New Year.”

“Taking Teddy with you?”

“I’d love to. But under the present circumstances, I’d rather he stay with his grandmother most of the time. She can give him way more stability than I can right now.”

“ _Nan-na_!” Teddy crowed importantly from his high seat.

“That’s right, your nanna”, Remus confirmed, looking pleased. “He’s totally okay with it, as you can see.”

However, she couldn’t help observing the sad expression in his eyes. “Are you worried for Teddy?” she asked.

“Of course I am. Attacks on people who speak their mind? Something is clearly and seriously wrong right now. The problem is that nobody cares because everyone in the wizarding world is tired of war right now, so they’ll rather ignore all these subtle developments.”

“I read somewhere that the real war only begins after the peace contracts have been signed”, Elena remarked.

“Is that supposed to cheer us up?” Remus laughed bitterly, but the twinkle returned to his eyes soon enough.

He said his good-byes, bent his knees as he walked out of the front door so as not to have Teddy bump into the frame and once outside, immediately Disapparated with the happily gurgling boy on his shoulders.

Elena returned to the sitting room, deep in thought.

“The Order should have some kind of emergency fund”, she said to Severus who half-sat on the headrest of an armchair, “for members who hit a hard spot.”

“Oh, I see. Lupin’s wounded-doe routine has taken you in.”

“He’s not well, didn’t you see that??”

“Elena.” His black eyes fixed hers hard. “Lupin is a wizard. He will be fine.”

“What about the little one?”

It made him smile, the way she always worried about others. Very much like Lily; he couldn’t help seeing that. “Teddy Lupin has a very competent grandmother”, he informed her with something that was almost gentleness. “Now, can we turn to more important things?”

She looked up suddenly. “What about your mother?”

Severus was momentarily irritated. “What about her?”

“You said when you came that …”

“Oh, that.” He twitched at the memory of his earlier anger, but all he could feel of it now was a faint echo. “It’s just … she keeps staying and staying …” He made a gesture that ended up hanging in the air, very much like his sentence.

“You want her out?”

“Yes. – _No_ , I …” He was looking for words. “I guess I wonder what she does. Why she’s here.”

“To help _you_ , I thought?”

His smile was a little evil. “That’s what she wants me to believe.”

“But you don’t?” she asked, probing carefully.

He didn’t reply for quite a while. “She goes to the cemetery. To _visit_ my father.” The feeling of awkwardness he had went into another twitch.

Elena watched him. “From where I’m standing, that’s almost sweet.”

But Severus shook his head fiercely. “It’s sick, that’s what it is!”

“ _Sick_?” Elena repeated and stared at his face. She saw pain around the corners of his mouth.

“The whole thing”, he said in a constricted voice and Elena saw that he had difficulty coming up with the words he wanted, and from this she knew that there was an emotional conflict inside of him.

“You mean their marriage?” she asked gently. “Their marriage was sick?”

Another twitch. He didn’t look at her now, his eyes were roving the room. It was a very long time before he spoke. “I asked her once … many years ago … why she wouldn’t leave him … you know, because of the way he … treated her ...” A long pause. “Do you know what she said?”

He suddenly glared at her when he asked the question and for some reason, Elena knew right away. “That she loved him”, she answered.

Severus nodded slowly, looking bewildered. “He beat her up … abused her, both verbally and …” Another twitch. “And she loved him.”

“You know what they say, that love’s not logical.”

“Yes, but is it _that_ stupid?”

She smiled. “You tell me.”

It earned her a confused glance. “I like to believe”, he started awkwardly, “that I attach what affections I have to … people that are worthy of it.”

Her smile deepened. “Not everyone is that lucky.”

“I wouldn’t think of it as luck …”

“Well, maybe you have to reconsider. – What I’m trying to say is that if your mother loved your father in spite of what he did to her, you cannot apply rationale in order to explain why. There is no explanation. It’s the way it is.”

“But I told you what she did, didn’t I?”

Of course, Elena remembered. She chose her words carefully. “Sometimes it seems to me that love and hate are two sides of the same coin. They might appear irreconcilable, but they’re really the same. They’re both the opposites of indifference.”

He frowned, but said nothing. No matter how sharp his mind was, matters of the heart still confused him. What confused him even more was the way Elena spoke so confidently about it as if she had some kind of intuitive understanding. Severus saw that he couldn’t share it and that it was hence time to change the subject.

“There’s something we need to take care of”, he said, appearing cool.

“Yes, your procedure. Is it going to be painful?”

“Only if you resist.” He saw that the reply didn’t exactly put her at ease, so he elaborated. “What I’m going to do is a … well, a mixture of hypnosis and Legilimency.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re going to hypnotize me and then plunder around in my mind??”

He nodded; she scoffed.

“And you’re sure you can get around the _Fidelius_?” Elena asked suspiciously.

“I’m not”, he admitted. “But it’s worth a try. I’m going to try to access your subconscious. Your conscious mind may have been tampered with so that you cannot give me the location of the academy.” Severus saw from the painful expression on her face that she was trying to think of the location right now. “There is a limit, you see, to any spell that alters your consciousness. It’s true for Obliviating spells, as well: even if your memory has largely been erased, the information is still there, in the depths of your subconscious, and can be accessed – and reconstructed! – if someone knows how.”

“Have you tried this before?” she asked.

“Sure”, he lied confidently; after all, he had read up on the procedure only a few days ago.

She sighed. “Alright then. – Where? Here?”

“No.” He surveyed the sitting room. “Your aunt might come down. We need absolute privacy.”

“ _Little gnat_?”

“And at least a degree of comfort.”

“Alright. My bedroom then.”

There was a small pause before Snape gave a grave nod.

Elena took the lead upstairs and he followed her like a quietly gliding ghost; he was able to move so noiselessly that only the rustle of his wide cloak reminded her that he was there, behind her back. In the bedroom, she switched on the lamp on her desk and another one on the nightstand. A weak light suffused the cramped room and when Elena turned around and saw him standing there, she suddenly felt self-conscious. His eyes were scanning the untidy cramped room and fell on a limp bra hanging over the backrest of a chair. She snatched it away and hurled it on a heap of used clothing in the corner. An apology for the state of the room was on the tip of her tongue, but something else occurred to her. “So you’re gonna have a peek into my subconscious, right?”

“Provided the procedure works”, he confirmed with a nod and a ‘so-what’ expression on his face.

“So what I’m doing here is grant you access to my innermost … secrets.”

“Well, I’d rather …”

“’Cause my dirtiest secrets are going to be found down there, aren’t they? In fact, bloody well anything that is in some way confidential or embarrassing will down be there, won’t it?”

Snape rolled his eyes. “I promise to be careful. I shall exclusively focus on the location of the academy.”

“Ah, but I’m going to be hypnotized! Which means that I can’t control at all what you’re doing, you could be telling me anything …”

“Nothing less would happen if I were to Legilimens you”, he growled, “so if you feel so threatened by my intrusion right now, you should not seek my company altogether because I am said threat made flesh!”

“Now you’re being dramatic!”

“You are, for thinking that your little secrets are of such significance that I wouldn’t be able to resist looking at them!” He scoffed bitterly and looked offended.

“Come on, Severus! Would _you_ like the prospect of someone examining your mind while you’re out and helpless??”

For a few seconds, he just glowered, then issued a reluctant “No”, to which, however, he added after a few seconds. “Anyway, whatever I’m going to see in your subconscious, it’s not going to be as if we were here, in everyday reality. The subconscious is a realm in which logical thought lies dormant. It is a realm of symbols and encrypted messages. It is the realm where dreams come from. Hence, any findings that I may have will have to be interpreted. Translated. – Maybe you’re beginning to see that this will not be easy, and gloating over your teenage crushes will be the least of my worries.”

She thought about this, head tilted to one side. “You will retain your logical thought, though?”

“Of course. Otherwise I couldn’t find out anything. At the same time, I’m going to navigate your subconscious, not knowing what awaits me there. Make no mistake, this could be dangerous, depending on the monsters you hide down there.”

Now it was her turn to sneer a little. “The monsters I only met after I met _you_ , Severus Snape! Which means that you won’t find anything new there.”

“Well, then”, he said, but looked a little glum. “I suggest you try to get comfortable.”

Elena sighed, slipped off her shoes and lay down on her narrow bed. Severus watched her doing this, and after a while he ventured to the edge of her bed and sat down. There was a peculiar pause in which they were both trying to adapt to the situation, the two of them in this confined and intimate space. They’d been in the situation before, but under entirely different circumstances; then, Snape had used his magic to break a harrowing nightmare Elena hadn’t been able to wake up from. Now it appeared he might be leading her into precisely such a nightmare. However, the end justified the means.

“Close your eyes, please”, Severus said, “and make sure to find a position that allows you to relax.”

She wriggled around on the bed a bit before she let her eyelids gently slide shut. For a while, nothing happened, but then Severus started to speak. His voice was very quiet, hardly audible, and yet Elena didn’t miss a word. It was his voice, silky, mesmerizing, and maybe it was because he was already working some magic, but the sound of his words made her pleasantly drowsy already; it also made the hair on her body stand up with a degree of erotic excitement, but as his voice continued to flow quietly into her ears like a warm and fragrant oil, she calmed down, felt her limbs become heavier and after a while she couldn’t have opened her eyes even if she had wanted to.

She didn’t want to, anyway. After no more than a minute, she felt completely peachy and would have been prepared to lie here forever, feeding only on the sound of his voice. It made her float, quite literally, because she noticed at the periphery of her mind that she couldn’t feel the mattress under her body anymore, nor the weight of her denims on her hips and legs. In fact, it was as if she was no longer a physical being, but already her dream alter ego, weightless and free to navigate wherever it wanted.

After a while, she heard music. Slow and sensual music that invited her to move with it, to become one with it. There was still enough rational thought inside her to wonder where that music was coming from, but the thread that connected her to logic was already wearing thin and eventually she could hear it snap. Now she was floating completely free and saw that the music made perfect sense. Everything made perfect sense. An irrational wave of happiness overcame her and she decided that she needed to dance …

 

* * *

 

Severus bent over Elena and listened to her breathing. It was deep, yet hardly audible, and from her completely relaxed features he knew that she had almost gone under. All the same, he continued to murmur to her, but after a while the words that suggested total relaxation changed into that of an incantation; he sung them quietly, like a lullaby. Elena, stretched out on her narrow bed, her chest and belly rising and falling gently, moaned a little. It was the last resistance her conscious mind put up; after that, she remained unmoving.

For a couple of minutes, Severus merely watched her. He felt a reluctance to do what he intended to do. After all, it was an intrusion, the fact that she had authorized it notwithstanding. It occurred to him then that she hadn’t really authorized it, either; once again, she had just gone along with him. She trusted him completely, was prepared to submit to his schemes even if she didn’t know what exactly they entailed. Again, the thought came up that he was taking too much of what she did for him for granted. Plus, he suddenly felt an unusual squeamishness about what he was going to do and half-wished that it would not work.

However, it did. After the event, he was surprised by the ease of it. When he gently accessed her mind, it lay like an open book, completely unguarded, and he was able to walk into it as if descending a flight of stairs. Severus flicked his wand at the lamps in the bedroom to produce darkness and thus focus; then he closed his eyes in order to shut out the surroundings and let his mind journey on.

When his inner eye opened up, he found himself walking on cobbled stones in a narrow gas-lit alleyway. A clear starry night formed a high dome above his head and Severus looked down just in time to evade a steaming heap of horseshit. He looked around, at the bleak façades of houses with high windows, the absence of advertisements, the gas light and the distinct sound of hooves coming close. Very close indeed. He took another jump to the side as a large carriage drawn by four horses rumbled past, close enough to almost shave off the hair on Snape’s head.

“ _Auf d’Seit, Hundskrüppel, elendiger_!” A coachman with a huge moustache stood up on the box, cracking a mean whip. The horses had foam at their muzzles, their coats were bathed in sweat. Snape glared up at the coachman, wondered whether he would be able to jinx him in this Elena’s world of subconscious images, but decided that there were more important things to do and this coachman was, after all, no more than a projection. However, he kind of resented the way the man spat in his direction and issued another string of words that were as aggressive and as unintelligible as the first. It occurred to Severus suddenly that he might encounter a language problem down the line, and the thought made him frown.

With the carriage gone, he continued his path down the alleyway, confident that it would lead him somewhere. He came to a quite populated square at the other end of which towered an impressive cathedral that was almost certainly famous and significant. There was an old-fashioned tramway crossing the square and people strolling outside cafés and theatres, ladies with corseted waists and skirts brushing the ground, gentlemen with stiff hats, collars and elegant walking sticks. Flower girls were selling their wares, shoe-shine boys offering their services and newspaper boys clamouring something about some passenger ship that had struck an iceberg in the North Sea and sunk. In spite of the liveliness of the scene, there was also the gravity of an old and self-important culture. Everything was very real; the sound of voices, the texture of the cobbled stones. Hard to believe that it wasn’t. At least, if you didn’t believe that dreams were real.

Snape had no doubt that the city in which he was walking was Vienna; it had to be, as this was the home of Elena’s soul, the place she’d known since childhood. However, this was an old Vienna, one that Elena couldn’t possibly know. Yet, a large portion of the subconscious was made up of collective experiences, handed down from one generation to the next, and hence Elena was able to bring him here, to a place far away and a time long past. Walking slowly, Severus took in the details. Everything here was a symbol, a projection; hence, everything could be a clue with regard to the riddle he wished to solve. Other than that, he could only hope that something would happen eventually.

He passed another café, a crowded place where the tables and chairs stood almost too close for comfort and spilt out onto the pavement. The guests were a lively crowd, talking animatedly and with an air of sophistication. Severus noticed one of the stately couples walking by and wrinkling their noses at a girl who’d hoisted her long skirt up a little to expose an inch of ankle. However, the girl didn’t appear chagrined by the dirty looks: she threw her head back and laughed raucously while her companions – bearded, artsy looking guys – sniggered along. Severus, too, couldn’t keep himself from smiling crookedly, realizing that this, too, was Elena, bohemian liberalism sticking out its tongue at bourgeois decorum. It made him feel a little more at home in this realm of her psyche.

He made to walk on, past the café, when he noticed a pair of blazing eyes on him. It was a young woman sitting at another crowded table close to the entrance of the place. She was a strawberry blonde with blue eyes and wore a long-sleeved dark blue dress with a matching feather boa wrapped around her neck. She stared at him so hard it was obvious she knew him or believed to know him. Severus was quite sure that he had never seen her before.

His first instinct was to walk away. This was what he would have done had this café been part of real life, because a young woman staring at him that angrily couldn’t possibly be good news. However, this was Elena’s subconscious, so the girl certainly wasn’t an ex student or someone he’d caused collateral damage to in the wizarding war. Everything that was happening here had quite a different and specific reason, might be a pointer in the right direction. He couldn’t ignore it, no matter how uncomfortable the woman’s blazing eyes made him. So he made himself glare back. Her mouth fell open as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t. Snape’s discomfort grew, and eventually he couldn’t take it anymore and turned to walk away. That was when all hell broke loose.

“ _Des is’ er_!!” The screech was as painful as the sound of a sharp stone cutting glass. “ _Haltet’s’n auf, des is’ er_!”[1]

There was a commotion. Voices, shouts, a stifled scream. Out of the crowd rose two huge brutes in undershirts and with tattooed arms – they didn’t fit into this place at all, but logical rules didn’t apply here – and blocked his way. Their breaths smelt of beer and something sour. “ _Saukerl, greisliger_!” one of them growled, contempt in his eyes.

Snape’s hand was in the breast pocket of his cloak, gripping his wand. He felt no fear, but glowered menacingly and the two smelly brutes. Sure enough, he was ready to strike should they attempt to manhandle him, but they appeared happy enough to just block his path.

From behind, someone put their hand on his shoulder and Snape turned lazily. It was the blonde, looking furious, her eyes narrowed. She examined him closely, took in his features, specifically his nose, then nodded fiercely. “ _Des is’ er_ ”, she repeated and turned to the table she had just left and where a group of people watched the scene warily. “ _Erinnern Sie sich, Herr Doktor? Des is’ der Mann, von dem ich Ihnen erzählt hab_!”[2]

Severus didn’t understand one word, but he saw that the girl – she was about Elena’s age – had spoken to a middle-aged gentlemen with serious analytical eyes and a well-groomed beard. He wore a good suit and waistcoat, the chain of his pocket watch was elegantly draped across his chest. He held a pipe in one hand, stuffing it absentmindedly. The look he gave Snape was interested, almost fascinated. “ _Freilich erinner’ ich mich, liebe Katja. Wie könnt’ ich vergessen, was Ihrer Freundin g’schehn ist?_ ”[3] Snape had no German, but a good idea on what it sounded like since he had sometimes heard Dumbledore speak it (he had been fluent). The language the elegant gentlemen used sounded different, drawled and a little truncated, much like the dialect Elena used when she talked to her aunt. The man clearly wasn’t half as upset as the girl. In fact, his eyes were that of a scientist, Snape thought, cool and objective. So Severus fixed the man’s eyes with his own, silently demanding a voice of reason.

The girl, however, started to screech once more. “ _Warum holt denn keiner die Gendarmerie? San denn de nia do wann ma’s braucht?_ ”[4]

Her hysterical tone made Severus twitch. Something was horribly amiss. He gripped his wand tighter, but held the gaze of the elderly gentleman. In the meantime, the whole café had become aware of the commotion. Innumerable pairs of eyes were on Snape, the faces were like a collective frown; if he wanted to get out of this situation, Severus mused, he would have to cast a real strong Stunning spell on the whole crowd. But what purpose would it serve? First of all, he had no idea whether his magic would work in this world projected from Elena’s subconscious, as she had had no magic – or hadn’t been aware of it – for the most part of her life. But even if it worked, where would it get him? None of these people would be able to give him any clues, he’d be adrift in Elena’s psychological landscape without a pointer. His fingers around his wand slackened. He would have to wait and see how this little farce played out. His hopes were on the elderly gentlemen who still apprised him from head to toe.

“ _Eikastl’n sollten’s Dich, elendiger Verbrecher_!”[5] the girl hissed.

Now the word ‘ _Verbrecher’_ he knew (from some story Dumbledore had once told him about Grindelwald). _Criminal_. So even in Elena’s subconscious, he was the bad guy? But what was it exactly this woman accused him of?

“ _Beruhigen Sie sich, Katja_ ”, drawled the gentlemen in the waistcoat. He seemed a little bored. “ _Das sind alles bloß Verdächtigungen_.”[6]

“ _Verdächtigungen?? Er hat aus ihr a G’fangene g’macht, des weiß jeder, Herr Doktor, und wann’s net wegen ihm wär’, könnt’ alles so sein wie früher_!”[7]

“ _Na, dann lassen’s den Mann doch für sich selber sprechen! Sicher hat er so einiges zu den Anschuldigungen zu sagen_?” And with that, the waistcoat gentleman turned to Snape, his eyes asking him to speak. “ _Also_?”[8]

A relative silence ensued, in spite of an underlying carpet of whispers. Severus saw well that he was expected to say something for himself and he gave an exasperated sigh. It took all his determination to control himself, to not whip out his wand and strike down this annoying bunch of Muggles, dream creatures or not. “What is this about, then?” he asked, demonstrating boredom.

Perplexed stares. Only the elderly gentlemen was amused. “ _A Engländer_!” he cried out, smirking. “ _Wia kummt denn der da her?_ ”

“ _Was macht’n des für an Unterschied?_ ” demanded the girl called Katja, still furious.

The man she referred to as ‘Doktor’, however, held up his hand, then stood up and offered the same hand to Snape. “Please, excuse our impoliteness”, he said in a heavily accented English, “we didn’t realize you were a foreigner. – May I introduce myself? I’m Dr. Freud.” A self-conscious smile. “You may have heard of me.”

Snape ignored the hand. “Can’t say I have”, he said curtly and repeated, “what is this all about?” The two brutes were standing in his back, breathing down his neck. It was hard to bear.

“Don’t you want to introduce yourself?” the man called Dr. Freud asked sternly.

Reluctantly, Snape gave his name. It was enough to make Dr. Freud smirk again. “ _Severus_?” he repeated. “How very apt! – I keep teaching my disciples, such as our enchanting Katja here, that the given name has a great influence on a person’s psyche. – Hence, would you describe yourself as a _severe_ person, Mr Snape?”

“I would. And I might become very severe indeed unless someone’s finally going to inform me what kind of game is being played here!”

“ _Was sagt er_?” hissed Katja who obviously hadn’t understood anything.

“ _Dass er nix weiß_ ”, Freud replied lightly, eliciting a bitter scoff from Katja and enraged whispers from those who had heard.

Severus was about to roll his eyes and demand again to be enlightened. But then he saw something. Another pair of eyes, dark brown, almost black, scrutinizing him. They belonged to a woman sitting at the same table as Katja and Dr. Freud. Contrary to the others, however, she sat comfortably, was very quiet and merely listened to the exchange. She was also small and a little dumpy with very dark hair and not altogether noticeable, except for her eyebrows. They were Elena’s, of that Severus was certain. He would have known those brows anywhere, the elegant curve, sharply ascending, reaching a peak, and sharply falling again, the kind that was sometimes referred to as ‘devil’s arch’ and was often found among witches and wizards. Now that he looked more closely at the woman who wore a simple black dress with a high collar, he thought he detected a few other similarities in the face, as well. This was certainly not a coincidence. He had to manage to talk to this woman somehow.

“Sir?” Dr. Freud called him to attention. “Will you not explain yourself?”

“I don’t know what you’re accusing me of.”

Dr. Freud scrutinized him once more before he spoke. “Well, the gist of the accusation is that you have … interfered with a young woman …”

“ _Interfered_?” Snape repeated, almost aghast.

“… a young woman who happens to be a good friend of our dear Katja”, Freud droned on, unperturbed. “The word is that you have changed her irrevocably. Set her apart from her peer group so that she can never return. And that you have forthwith set her adrift to fend for herself, with no friends, no ties, and only a small portion of her wits left.”

Snape digested this. Slowly, he began to understand and found himself looking at Katja who stared back belligerently. Hadn’t Elena told him once that she had a friend, possibly by that very name? One that was a psychologist, or psychotherapist, or whatever, he didn’t know the difference. Anyway, this Katja woman claimed that he had somehow interfered with Elena, set her apart. Well, in actual fact he had. By making her aware of the magic she had, he had changed her and forever separated her from erstwhile friends, from the Muggle world in general. He started to get why Katja was so angry with him. What he didn’t get yet, however, was the function of this Dr. Freud. Possibly, he was no more than a representation of Elena’s earlier beliefs and world views. Severus knew how she loved to quote popular psychology. It had driven him up the wall often enough.

He thought about what to say next. He might deny knowing Elena, but it probably wouldn’t get him to the next step. He could also deny his supposed crime, but he guessed that such a denial would only complicate things and not keep him in this peculiar little game. So he decided to take a different approach.

“I think I know the woman you are talking about”, he said as calmly as he managed. “However, it has never been my intention to hurt her.”

“What then, Mr Snape, was your intention?”

“To teach her. To help her develop her talents.”

Freud looked faintly interested and took his sweet time in order to translate. It made Katja almost livid and she started to hiss once more.

Freud frowned at Snape. “I’m not exactly a pedagogue, sir. However, from careful teaching I should expect a different result than the fate that has befallen this young woman!”

“What kind of fate?” demanded Snape, feeling uncomfortable. Even in this world, he was still worried for Elena and wondered what had happened to her.

Freud’s eyes twinkled; however, it wasn’t like Albus Dumbledore’s friendly twinkle. In fact, it had something threatening to it. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t know, sir?”

Snape struggled for words. If he replied truthfully, it would be seen as him feigning ignorance and it wouldn’t go down well with all these people who’d formed a circle around him and glared at him. At the same time, of course, he had no idea at all what kind of fate had befallen Elena. Hence, this was a tricky situation, and it was hard to remember that it wasn’t real, that what he was experiencing right now was an elaborate barrier that Elena’s subconscious had built up under magical influence in order to keep him from getting to the secret she was jinxed to keep.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught an impatient gesture of Katja’s. “I’d rather say he doesn’t care!” she sneered and turned up her nose. “Messed her up and left …”

“That is not true!” Snape said sharply. Almost simultaneously, he realized with a pang that Katja had spoken to him in English. That wasn’t exactly surprising since this was a dream world where rules could be made up and destroyed at any given moment. However, it alerted him to Katja’s function in this little drama and why she was here. Certainly, she represented Elena’s old life, but also the parts of her that still stuck to it. Maybe, Katja was a representative of Elena’s doubts and fears upon entering the magical world. Maybe, also, she was the part of Elena that wasn’t sure about Snape’s motives; mostly about how much he cared for her. Yes, this, too, might be a problem; there were emotions in play. What he was experiencing right now might just as well be a cunning test of affection that Elena’s subconscious was subjecting him to. – After his small outbreak, all eyes were once more on him.

“ _What_ is not true??” hissed Katja, clearly expecting nothing but feeble excuses from him.

“Why do you think I’m here?” Snape challenged her coldly. “An Englishman, a stranger in a strange land where he doesn’t know the language …”

“Don’t give me that crap!” ranted Katja, suddenly sounding very much like a late-twentieth-century woman. In any other circumstances, Severus might have been tempted to grin.

“I have come to help her!” he explained instead, fixing the stroppy girl with his eyes. “Take me to her and I promise, whatever fate she’s met, I’ll do my very best …”

“YOU WILL NOT GO NEAR HER!!!”

The force of Katja’s reaction took him by surprise. Her eyes flashed and Snape imagined that her teeth had become larger. In any case, there was no doubt that she was livid. And with her, the entire café reacted as if it was an extension of Katja’s psychological landscape. People roared, got up, pushed in. Even the walls of the café appeared to shake momentarily. Snape found himself wedged into a tiny space between pressing bodies, scandalized whispers and supressed discussions on his culpability.

There was only one exception. The woman who had Elena’s eyebrows. She still sat calmly on her chair beside Freud, watched Snape coolly and appeared entirely unperturbed. However, he also thought that he detected a flicker of interest in the woman’s dark eyes.

He breathed, forced himself to speak quietly. “I’m afraid I won’t be of much use to her if you won’t let me near her.” Severus looked at Freud. “I appeal to you, sir, to be a voice of reason here!”

“But this is exactly what I am, my friend!” Freud exclaimed, and now he seemed amused. “If it wasn’t for me, these good people here would string you up on the next lamppost in no time!”

When Severus looked around, he saw that the old man was right. He stared into fierce faces, saw hateful eyes and clenched teeth. The crowd reflected Katja’s mood which was close to boiling over, but it was Freud who held them all in check by the mere force of his cool demeanour.

“Then tell me how to redeem myself, sir”, Severus said and tried hard to keep the irony out of his voice. Already, he resented Elena – or her subconscious, rather – for putting him into a position where he had to guess and probe and, as he felt it, humiliate himself.

“Redeem yourself?”

“Help her, then. Balance out the … damage I’ve done.”

“So you don’t deny that you _have_ harmed her.”

“Unintentionally”, Snape snarled.

Katja gave a shrill mean laugh. The crowd followed suit, and as it did, the warm sweating bodies pressed still closer. It was a sore challenge for Snape. He hated crowds of people, shied away from them as a rule. When they pressed in on him, the situation quickly became unbearable. He did his best to remind himself that this was not real, that it was no more than an elaborate dream, and not his own at that, so he need not take it personally. _But_ he was bothered! Every fibre of him wanted to rant and scream. He felt an aggressive pulse pounding in his ears and his fingers clawing the rough wood of his wand.

And before he knew it, he heard himself snarling, “Enough with this farce already! This is bloody ridiculous! Let me see Elena. And I promise you that I will do …”

However, this was as far as he got. An enormous roar went up, wild and angry. It was as if the mention of Elena’s name had set something off, as if he had broken a dam. Someone grabbed him by his collar, probably one of the beer-breath brutes. Katja came up into his face, and her own was a contorted grimace, more reminiscent of a banshee than a human being.

“ _Aufhänga_!” someone hollered. “ _Auf geht’s, Leut, häng’ ma’n auf_!”

Severus didn’t understand the words, but he saw murder in the eyes of the crowd. The grip around his collar got tighter, almost tearing off his cloak. Frantically, he sought Freud’s eyes, but although the man looked back at him with a serious expression, he shrugged as if to signify that the situation was beyond his control now. There was also an ironic quirk around his mouth, clearly saying that Severus had brought all this onto himself.

Enough now.

Severus tore out his wand, swiped it in a grand arch – at least as much as his constrained position allowed – and shouted “ _Stupefy_!”

No effect.

His magic didn’t work in Elena’s subconscious world. He was wrestled to the ground by a dozen muscular arms, soon could see almost nothing but spitting squirming figures on top of him, breathing air becoming scarce, his own cries of protest muffled. Strong fingers like steel cables tightened around his throat, but what was even worse was the feeling of utter helplessness, of being completely at someone’s mercy. It stirred a memory of the night in the lighthouse, when he’d been deprived of his magic. Once more, he was nothing but a thin stringy middle-aged man who could be torn apart by a raging mob in a matter of seconds.

Fear of death was taking over. That this world wasn’t real didn’t matter, he could very well die here. Severus gasped, struggled blindly, not prepared to surrender himself. He couldn’t believe that Elena would let this happen to him, that she would have him killed in her subconscious, and for the fraction of a second, it occurred to him that she could not want this, either, and that she could change it if only she wished. And so, before he knew it, a cry was wrenched from his throat.

“Help! HELP ME!!”

Was this really his voice, this drawn-out pitiful wail?

He had no time to ponder it, because in the next moment something that felt like an explosion – or, rather, like an eruption – shook his world, lifted him up a few inches from the ground and let him crash down again carelessly.

An icy gust blew out all the lights …

* * *

 

 

[1] „That’s the man! – Stop him, that’s the man!“

[2] „Do you remember, doctor? This is the man I told you about!“

[3] „Of course I remember, dear Katja. How could I forget what happened to your friend?“

[4] „Why doesn’t anyone get the police? Are they never here when you need them?“

[5] „They should lock you up, bloody criminal!“

[6] „Calm down, Katja. Those are only suspicions.“

[7] „Suspicions?? He made her a prisoner, everybody knows this, doctor, and if it wasn’t for him, everything could be as it used to be!“

[8] „Let the man speak for himself, why don’t you? I’m sure he would want to explain himself. – Well, then?“


	28. Severus in the Underworld

**Severus in the Underworld**

 

There was darkness. Darkness and quiet.

For a few seconds, Severus lay quite still before he dared to move his limbs. The steel fingers around his throat had gone. The hands holding him down had vanished; he was free to move, but he did so very carefully, feeling stunned and the fear still coursing through his veins.

Slowly, he sat up. Started to discern shapes, broken tables and chairs, dust and rubble. His joints ached as he got up.

The moment Severus straightened his back, at least a dozen candles flickered up and showed him what was left of the crowded café. It looked as if after a bombing. There were enormous cracks in the walls, pictures hung askew or shattered on the floor beside broken glass and pieces of furniture. Clouds of dust were wafting around and made Snape cough. He rubbed his eyes, then carefully looked around.

No one was about. Given the explosion, there should have been bodies, but this was not so. Everyone had disappeared – Katja, Freud, the beer-breath brutes. Everyone except for one person.

He saw her standing by the entrance, leaning against a broken door frame and examining him with her dark eyes, the arched brows raised. Snape saw that she held something in her right hand. It was a wand. When he looked back into her eyes, for the briefest moment her irises changed to violet. It was nothing but a flash, but he understood. She was giving him ‘the eye’, the universal sign by which witches and wizards recognized each other.

He cleared his throat, inclined his head. “Thank you”, he croaked.

She stood still, appeared to consider him. Then she inclined her head, acknowledging his thanks and made a gesture for him to come closer. Severus didn’t hesitate. It was peculiar how even in this world, the presence of a fellow magical being put him at ease.

As he came up to her, he introduced himself. Again, she said nothing, looked him up and down. Then she put two fingers to her chest. “Ada”, she said, and “ _pridite z mano_.”

He didn’t understand her words, but knew that they were neither German nor the peculiar dialect Katja and Dr. Freud had spoken. However, he understood quite well that she had asked him to follow her, and he did.

Side by side, they walked out onto the street. However, the chic nineteenth-century urban scene had changed completely. What Severus stepped out onto was a scene of destruction, bombed-out houses and rubble, and over all this the oppressive quiet of death that he knew very well. There was not a soul to be seen in this ghost city and for a moment, Snape couldn’t help but take all this in and wonder where it came from. What in Elena’s happy-go-lucky nature was hiding _this_? For all he knew, she’d had a sheltered life; not the happiest one, probably, but still in comfort, a far cry from this dismal state of things.

“ _Vojna_ ”, Ada said, walking beside him. “ _Da je bila vojna._ ”

He stopped himself from saying ‘whatever’ and stepped over the rubble. “Are you going to take me to her?” he asked. “To Elena?”

It was out before he remembered what the mention of Elena’s name had done the last time. However, this time everything remained quiet. No new eruption. The only thing that happened was that Ada gave him a curious look and the corners of her mouth quirked a little.

She wore an old-fashioned dress with a high collar and an embroidered hem coming down to her ankles, and a grey knitted shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Her hair was tied in a sloppy bun at the nape of her neck. The resemblance to Elena was striking. It wasn’t that she really looked like Elena, but she held herself like her, the way she took her steps were similar, the gestures and something that could only be described as her _way of being_. Severus felt acutely comfortable in her presence, and considering that he didn’t usually feel like that with strangers, and also taking into account the ordeal he’d just suffered, this feeling was a very pleasant surprise. Quite uncharacteristically, he became curious about his quiet companion and wondered why she was here, _who_ she was. But he already had a theory.

“You’re an ancestor, aren’t you?” he ventured, his eyes on the rubble below his feet. “The one she got her magic from.”

Ada replied with a shy smile. When she spoke, he couldn’t make sense of her words, of course. Severus guessed that they were Slovenian. Didn’t Elena’s mother’s family originally come from Slovenia? He was sure he was talking to, perhaps, a great-grandmother or something, one that Elena couldn’t really know, but who lived in the nether regions of her psyche by way of a collective familial subconscious. – Something occurred to him.

“I’m sure you could talk to me in English”, he said to Ada, “provided she lets you.” What he meant was that Elena made up the rules. She had made Katja speak English, as well, so why not this woman?

However, Ada gave him a broad smile and spoke once more in what Snape thought was Slovenian. The surprising thing was that he heard the foreign words, their unusual sounds, but understood every word of it. “ _Or you could try and speak to me in my language_ ”, was what she said to him, meaning that he, too, was subject to Elena’s quirky subconscious rules.

Severus tried. He didn’t know how to do it at first, how to even start and all he issued was an undecided croak. “I’m afraid I can’t”, he murmured in English.

“ _You have to believe you can_ ”, Ada responded in Slovenian. “ _It’s like jumping from a lighthouse and flying_. _\- It’s like everything else in life._ ”

Snape tried again, specifically not to think before he started to speak, and eventually he brought out the words although they felt edgy on his tongue at first. They also made Ada laugh.

“ _Dobro_!” she said. _Good_. Snape felt as if he had passed some kind of test.

“ _Kam gremo_?” he inquired clumsily. His vocal chords seemed to rebel against the unusual exercise, particularly the rolling ‘r’ felt almost painful. _Where are we going?_

“ _To the prison_ ”, replied Ada with a look of surprise. “ _Isn’t that where you want to go?_ ”

“ _Is_ she _there?_ ”

Another surprised look. “ _You heard the doctor, didn’t you_?”

“So it’s true? She … Elena … she’s in some kind of trouble?” The more he spoke, the more naturally the foreign words started to flow.

Ada issued a sound between laughter and snort. Severus knew exactly what it meant. “ _You of all people ask me this_?”

“This is a foreign country to me, you know”, he said carefully, “that I don’t know the rules of.”

She looked at him with mock-sympathy.

“What I’m trying to say”, struggled Snape, “is that I seem to have put her into a difficult position, but I did so innocently without being aware of the consequences she might have to face in this world.”

Ada laughed bitterly. “ _Innocently_??” she repeated and raised her arched brow at him.

“Oh, come on!” growled Snape. “Should I not have told her that she was a witch? Kept her in the dark, let her continue life as a piteous Muggle? – You of all people should understand, because that was _one hell_ of a Stunning spell you cast in there!”

However, Ada either didn’t hear the compliment or it meant nothing to her. She only looked at him with her dark eyes and frowned. For a while, they walked in silence in a devastated post-war landscape. There was not one house that remained standing, there wasn’t any sign of human presence, either, but from afar something could be heard that sounded like the roar of canons.

They came to a bridge. It, too, had been hit, but was still intact enough to cross it. The river flowing beneath it looked like a viscous blackish liquid. On the highest point of the bridge, Ada stopped and pointed onto a field that stretched out on the other side of the river.

Far out on the field, figures where moving. Snape narrowed his eyes to see better, and soon enough realized that it was a hunt going on out there. A woman was running away from a gang of men armed with clubs and pitchforks. Severus heard her pitiful screams as the mob caught up with her and threw her to the ground. He saw them starting to beat her savagely, tear her clothes off her body, and shocked by the scene he whipped out his wand, was ready to cast a spell when Ada’s hand firmly held him back.

He looked at her and a jolt went through him. Her face was suddenly covered in blood and bruises, her clothes hung in shreds and on her skin he could see scratches and the horrible marks of severe abuse.

“What …”, he started and grabbed Ada’s arm, then stared out onto the field once more. The figures had gone, the on-going rape and murder disappeared. And when he looked back at Ada, her face was clean again.

Slowly, he began to understand.

“They did this to you … because you were a witch?”

She nodded calmly.

“And this is why … why magic became dormant in your family?”

“Better like this”, Ada said quietly.

Now it was dawning on Severus what kind of crime he had committed by waking up Elena’s dormant magical talent. It wasn’t just that he had separated her from her Muggle family and friends. He had also broken a familial sacrilege, or – rather – Ada’s sacrilege by which she had wanted to protect the future generations of her family from meeting the same fate as she had. Severus saw what a powerful witch she must have been in order to cast such a strong ban that would push magic under for the next at least a hundred years. He was reminded of Lily, who’d given herself for her son, and the strong protective shield she had created by it.

He watched Ada, her calm – and now entirely clean – face that reminded him so much of Elena. He wondered whether she resented him. Given the circumstances, she had good reason to. Then again, Severus had to remind himself that Ada wasn’t real and that when he was communicating with her, he was really talking to Elena’s subconscious.

“I can see the reason why you want to protect your family”, he said to her, “but times have changed.”

“Have they?” The sarcastic look was Elena’s, as well. Ada looked him up and down, and he understood her well. Here he was, a sorry wretch spit out by a brutal war, trying to tell her that times had changed, and in this devastated dream landscape, too.

“There is no such thing as total security”, Snape continued. “Horrible things can always happen, to Muggles and wizards alike. I see your point in banning the magic. But you must realize that sleeping magic doesn’t become any less. Quite the opposite, it gathers its strength and one day it is bound to break out. Which is what happened in Elena’s case. In her, the magic is so strong that it became impossible to ignore.”

“She learnt to control it. – Then she met you.” It was clearly an accusation.

Severus thought about this. “I think she sought me out”, he explained after a while. “Unconsciously, perhaps, but she felt that we were alike and that I would be able to help her, to give her what she needed.” He gave Ada a hard look. “I do not regret it. Teaching her was one of the most worthwhile things I have ever done.”

“Yet, she is in prison”, Ada said with a sigh and an impatient gesture of her hand.

“What kind of prison?”

“One she cannot get out of.”

The _Fidelius_ again. Severus was sure that ‘the prison’ was a symbol for the spell cast on Elena, one she couldn’t counteract by herself.

“Will you take me there?”

Again, Ada watched him with her probing dark eyes. “What good will it do?”

“I will free her. From her prison.”

To his surprise, Ada threw back her head and laughed. It was a gleeful laughter and Severus thought that she must once have been a happy and warm-hearted woman.

“What’s so funny?” he growled, sensing ridicule (even in this sphere, he resented it badly).

“My friend”, Ada sputtered between laughs, “in order to free her, you’d have to battle your worst enemy!”

His worst enemy? Voldemort? What was _he_ doing in Elena’s subconscious?

“I mean yourself”, said Ada as if she had read his thoughts. “You would have to do what you’re least likely to do. Face your greatest weakness.”

Severus frowned, but after the fraction of a second he said, “I will.”

Ada’s expression changed to surprise. It was obvious that she hadn’t expected this answer. However, the sarcasm came back before long. “Well, let’s see”, she said and began to walk from the highest point of the bridge to its other side, and Severus followed.

When they arrived at the other end, the city was back upon them, the fields they had watched gone without a trace. The city’s streets, too, had changed; the rubble of war was gone, the roads were nicely paved and it was obvious to Severus that time had shifted again to a more modern age, if not quite present day. Restaurants and cafés sprang up, the sound of music spilt out of basement windows; raucous music, wild and sensual. There were people on the streets, too; girls with knee-lengths skirts and pot-like hats; sharply dressed boys with pomaded hair. Old-fashioned cars glided slowly through too-narrow alleys with stuttering engines, forcing Ada and Severus to walk practically glued to the houses’ façades, but only for a short while.

Suddenly, Ada stopped in front of a narrow entrance that had no door, but a guy with a scarred face and a cash box installed at a table in front of it. Steep steps led down to a basement place; music came up, as well as the sound of shuffling feet. A poster beside the entrance said _TANZ DER SINNE – die ganze Nacht – Eintritt für Herren frei_. Severus saw Ada smile at the poster – smile a little wickedly, in fact – then she pointed down the stairs.

“This is where you go”, she informed him.

“What about you?”

“Free admission for gentlemen”, she informed him sardonically, “not for me.”

“I find that rather unusual”, Severus growled.

Ada laughed. “So you’re still surprised??”

She had a point there.

“Will I find her down there? Elena?”

But he already knew. The music that came up from the basement was dance music. It made Snape squirm uncomfortably, but he saw quite well that this wasn’t a coincidence. Elena was bound to be where the dancing was. He looked down the steps, but before he could take a decision, Ada held him back.

“Just one thing”, she said, “that might be helpful. Down the line.”

Severus watched bewildered as Ada came closer to him and ordered the lapels of his cloak. It was a motherly gesture, one he hadn’t expected at all. Before he could ask her what she was doing, however, she swiftly slipped her hand into his cloak and brought out something from the inside pocket.

It was Abelard Ainsworth’s pen.

Only of course that it wasn’t really Ainsworth’s pen. Or just as much as Snape’s wand and cloak were really his, and not merely projected embodiments of these objects. Anyway, the pen was here, obviously because it mattered.

“Careful with that”, Severus warned Ada as she was examining the pen. She shrugged it away as if to say ‘Do you know who you’re talking to??’. Then she touched her wand to the Biocelos inscription running down the side of the instrument. The letters started to move, to modify and change places. Before Snape’s eyes, _Biocelos Ltd._ turned into _Prepovedano Gozd_. He stared at the words for a couple of seconds before they made sense. _Prohibited woods?_ No. _Forbidden Forrest_!

Within seconds, it became clear to him what this pen was. A portkey, transporting anyone who used it to the Forbidden Forrest. Snape’s mind raced, going through all the implications. By the end of it, his face was sinister.

“Is this bad news?” Ada asked.

Severus hesitated. “I’ve just realized that someone I’ve been looking for is almost certainly dead.”

“I am sorry to hear that”, Ada said, although she sounded a little unconcerned. She was focussed on the pen and obviously thought that it was pretty.

“How can you know this?” Severus challenged her. “About the pen, and what it is for?”

“In the nether regions”, Ada said with a small smile, “all experience and knowledge is like a huge universal sea. Anyone can take a little vacation and go bathing there. – Also, you need to give this to her. My kin.”

“Why?” he asked.

But Ada shook her head to signify that she could – or would – not answer this question. “This is good-bye”, she announced instead, “you’ll need to be Orpheus now and venture into the underworld.”

Snape took another glum look down the stairs that appeared to open up in front of him like an abyss. He turned back to bid Ada a formal good-bye, but at that point she was already gone, had played her part as psychopomp and was no longer needed. The guy with the cash box waved at him lazily. Severus cast back a last glance at the busy Vienna street scene, then sighed and took the steps down to … well, wherever.

* * *

 

Severus entered a half-world that was doused in a dim reddish light and thick cigarette smoke. The sensual music he had heard from the street had intensified with each step he had taken down into this den. It was some kind of night club with dainty tables in niches and waiters that moved smoothly across a carpeted expanse, carrying elegant clinking glasses. The centre of this vault-like place, however, was dominated by a large parquet floor on which couples turned lazily. They were dressed as elegantly as the band of musicians positioned in a corner and looked equally tired. In fact, the shuffling of the dancers feet, the way the ladies literally hung in their partners arms, had a painful quality as if this kind of activity had been going on forever.

For a couple of minutes, Snape stood on the side lines, watching the scene and feeling acutely uncomfortable. He didn’t like this kind of place; the lazy elegance of it and the arrogant wrinkling of noses he believed to discern in the waiters as they beheld him. Once more, he had come into a situation where he felt odd, didn’t belong. Again, he had to remind himself that none of this was real; at the same time, part of him wanted to grab Elena by her shoulders as she lay on her bed and ask her what she was up to. But of course, conscious Elena couldn’t possibly answer this question and so Severus made himself breath calmly and watched the dancers.

Then he saw her.

It shouldn’t have come as such a surprise, he was supposed to encounter her in this world at some point, but when he did, something funny happened inside of him. A jolt, an electric shock.

Her figure moved lightly in the middle of the parquetted dance floor, and there was nothing of the other dancers’ tiredness about her. She wore a blood-red dress with a low waist and the hem reaching to the knees, exposing her well-shaped calves. Her hair was piled up casually, with curled strands falling out of the do onto her almost bare shoulders. She had a partner who guided her steps, but from the first moment that he saw her, Severus had the distinct expression that she didn’t really notice the guy, didn’t really notice anything, in fact, because the expression on her face was distant and not at all there. ‘Bewitched’, he caught himself thinking.

“Take a seat, sir”, a voice snarled into his ear.

Snape wheeled around and beheld a tall thin young man with hair as black as his own and large dark eyes. He was dressed in a waiter’s uniform, but unlike the other waiters his tie was not black, but as blood-red as Elena’s dress.

“I’m fine where I am, thank you”, Snape responded haughtily, but the young man didn’t budge.

“Take a seat, sir”, he repeated doggedly, “it is not polite to stand while she dances.”

Severus stared onto the dance floor at the moving couples. There were several girls dancing there, but it was obvious that the young man’s remark had referred to Elena. In fact, she was the only one whose movements didn’t appear forced, as if she was dancing against her will. Her skin was moist with sweat, and the expression on her face suggested a peculiar kind of obsession, as if she was going for the perfect dance.

“Please, take a seat, sir”, the young man admonished him again and helpfully indicated an empty niche.

Snape stared at the blood-red tie, wondering at its meaning. “Why is it not polite?” he asked.

The young waiter appraised him coolly. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

Snape shook his head and waited for an explanation which, however, did not come.

“What can I bring you?” the waiter asked instead.

Severus rolled his eyes. “Surprise me”, he said and hesitantly moved towards the niche the young man had indicated.

Once seated, his eyes flew back to Elena dancing in the centre of this den. Her eyes were glazed over; it was as if she moved in her own dream world. She didn’t see him, of course. She didn’t see anyone. She was unapproachable, unreachable. Seeing her tore at his heart.

Then something unexpected happened.

Elena stopped in mid-movement. Her face had changed and was suddenly contorted with anger. What was more, in the moment she stopped dancing, the small orchestra stopped playing, as well, and the musicians appeared to fall into a kind of trance, staring stupidly ahead of themselves.

“Useless!” Elena cried and made an angry gesture with her hand. “This is utterly useless!”

Her dancing partner stood frozen, then hung his head. He slouched off the dance floor like a beaten dog, shoulders hunched. Elena remained rooted to the spot, glancing around moodily. “Come on!” she demanded imperiously. “I don’t have all night!”

From one of the tables, a figure rose and tentatively approached Elena. Snape observed a brief conversation, then watched with interest as the young waiter in the blood-red tie came closer and seemed to negotiate with the man who’d gotten up. They discussed something. Then money changed hands, and Severus watched with raised eyebrows as Elena went smoothly into the new partners arms. As if on cue, the musicians took up their instruments and started playing again. The newly-formed couple started to dance, and once more Elena’s expression changed, went back to distant, out-worldly. All energy was in her body now as she danced and completely lost herself in the movements.

Snape was still wondering what kind of game was played here when the waiter with the blood-red tie came back and put a glass with a blood-red liquid on the table, quite obviously his idea of a surprise. Severus couldn’t fail to notice the significance of the colours: the red of Elena’s dress, the waiter’s tie and now this drink. As the waiter was about to turn away, Snape grabbed him by the sleeve of his shirt. The reaction was an irritated twitch, quite similar to one of Severus’ own.

“Wait a minute”, Snape demanded, “why don’t you tell me about this place a little?”

Again, the waiter jerked his head. “I’m working”, he said testily.

Severus ignored this. “What was happening there just now? Men give you _money_ so they may dance with her?”

The younger man shrugged. “Isn’t that obvious?”

“Why?”

The waiter’s face remained impassive. “It was her idea. If she has to do this, anyway, she might just as well make money out of it.”

“If she _has_ to do this??”

A cool scrutinizing look. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“You already asked me that.”

“I can arrange a dance for you if you wish. It’s only that you don’t look like the dancing kind …”

“I do not wish to dance!” Severus snarled. “But I’d like to speak to her.”

The waiter shook his head. “That’s not possible.”

“Why not??”

“Circumstances. No can do.”

“But …”

A stubborn headshake. “No can do.” He could be dogged, that waiter. Already, he was about to turn away, but again Severus held him back.

“What exactly did you mean when you said that she _has_ to do this?”

“You really don’t know anything, do you?” The waiter sighed. “Well, let’s say that she can’t … help herself. She has to dance. Day and night.”

Snape digested this. “You mean she is under some kind of ban that compels her to not stop dancing?”

“I don’t know about a ban, sir”, the waiter said, giving him a funny look. “All I know is that she is obsessed. Obsessed with finding the perfect partner and the perfect dance. Unless she finds that, she won’t stop. – But now if you excuse me. Like I said, I have work to do.”

Severus was left behind at his table, in front of a glass filled with blood-red liquid that he was beginning to find a bit disgusting. With narrowed eyes, he watched Elena on the dance floor, oblivious to her surroundings, her face as if in a trance, and although Snape knew nothing about dancing, to him her movements appeared to have a peculiar and almost unnatural perfection. It was easy to believe that she was in fact bewitched and Severus found himself leaving through the catalogue of his mind trying to find whether he had ever encountered such a spell and how it might be lifted. At the same time, he doubted that a simple _Finite Incantatem_ would do the trick, especially in this projected realm of Elena’s subconscious.

At the moment, he could do nothing but watch her. However, as he soon found out, watching made him feel acutely uncomfortable. The way she moved in a strange man’s arms, with complete trust in his guidance, with complete abandon in fact, made his stomach churn peculiarly. He didn’t want to admit to himself that this was the sting of jealousy that quickly developed into a mean burn as he continued to observe.

Before long, however, the earlier routine repeated itself. All of a sudden, Elena drew back from her partner and fixed him with an angry flash of her eyes. “This is not working out!” she cried and pushed her partner so hard that he stumbled off the parquetted floor. With a moody face, Elena sought out the waiter with the blood-red tie and made an impatient gesture towards him. “Stephen! Why don’t you bring me someone who _can_ dance, for a change!?”

_Stephen?_

Snape looked up with renewed interest at the waiter who was standing by the dance floor, obviously clueless. So this was Stephen Periwinkle? For some reason, Severus had expected a slobbering fool, and the realization that the young man was not only handsome but also, in his way, quick-witted irked him to no end, turned the burn into a vicious bite.

However, in view of his mission – which was still relieving Elena of that _Fidelius_ Charm – Periwinkle’s presence made sense. He was with her at the Academy, he had become her confidant. Being here in this night club where both Elena and Stephen were probably meant that he was getting very close to the secret. But how to access it?

While he was still pondering this problem, he caught Stephen Periwinkle’s eyes. The young man made an inviting gesture, asking him whether he wanted to be the next one to dance with Elena. Severus hastily put up a denying hand. Stephen shrugged, while Elena peered at Snape over his shoulder with narrowed eyes, but with no sign of recognition registering on her face. Only a moment later, another man stepped up onto the dance floor, addressing Stephen and pressing money into his hands urgently, staring at Elena greedily. Stephen accepted the money, led the man to Elena. Once again, the band picked up their playing. Once again, Elena began to move, quickly slipping into her trance. Her partner was obviously smitten by her and he wasn’t a bad dancer, either. They soon found a harmony in their steps that looked pretty perfect to Snape. His stomach growled. He didn’t like all this one bit. It had a sordid whiff, and he hated Elena being the centre of such a spectacle, real or not real, he didn’t care.

But what was he to do? At the back of his mind, an idea began to form, but he pushed it under right away. It was too preposterous. It was, in fact, unthinkable. However, an itch remained with him and made his skin crawl.

“You’re not going to get anywhere if you just sit here and stare at her, you know.”

The waiter – Stephen Periwinkle – had come back to his table.

“Any suggestions?” Severus said sourly.

“I made my suggestion a moment ago, but you turned it down.”

Snape glowered at him. “I do not dance.”

“Dancing with her is the only way of communicating with her”, Stephen pointed out with an irritating wise-ass face.

“You don’t understand”, hissed Snape. “I do not dance. Meaning, I cannot.”

“Anyone can dance”, the younger man informed him coolly.

“Well, I can’t.” The strain in Snape’s voice increased, but he didn’t even notice it.

“Don’t want, you mean.”

The impassive face and dogged comments brought Severus close to blowing a fuse. “You don’t listen, do you?! I just said I cannot. I have neither learned how to dance, nor felt in any way compelled – ever! – to learn it. To be perfectly honest, I find that practice ridiculous, undignified and entirely out for a superficial show!”

“To be perfectly honest”, Stephen countered, “I think you protest too much, sir. Why don’t you try that drink? It might loosen you up a bit.”

“To what aim?”

“I think you know perfectly well already that this is the only way for you to achieve what you have come here for. You have already been told, haven’t you?”

Snape wanted nothing better than feign ignorance. However, it was exactly in this moment that Ada’s words came back to him. _‘… in order to free her, you’d have to battle your worst enemy’_ and _‘you would have to do what you’re least likely to do. Face your greatest weakness.’_ He also remembered that he had foolishly promised Ada to do exactly that. Only then he hadn’t known that his greatest weakness would manifest itself in his unwillingness to dance. His greatest weakness, he saw now, was his fear of being ridiculed, and endeavouring to dance would fully expose him to said fear. It was impossible, completely out of the question. And this was why it made such perfect sense.

He wanted to tear his eyes off the couple on the dance floor, but couldn’t. However, he didn’t really see them. Not Elena and her new partner, anyway. For a couple of horrible and painful seconds, he saw Lily and James Potter in each other’s arms, doing their rounds at the Yule Ball in their seventh year, the night when he had realized that the rumours were true, as much as he had tried to keep himself from believing them, that they were indeed a couple and that any hope for a reconciliation that he’d harboured was now completely dashed, that she’d taken the ultimate step of turning away from him – right into Potter’s arms. For a daunting moment, Severus was seventeen again, standing on the side-lines and imagining that everyone was laughing at him, that his feelings were too obvious on his face for anyone not to see. The memory and the emotions that went with it were so strong that he felt overwhelmed; when he stared at his hands, he found that his fingers were shaking.

It was obvious what he had to do. Yet, he hated the idea. It made his heart race, and that he found deeply ridiculous and humiliating, that he, a grown man, should feel like this and that one of his greatest fears should be something that petty and undignified. However, there was no doubt in his mind that this was why he was here, that this was the only way to solve the riddle and achieve what he had come here for.

The music came to an abrupt stop. Once again, Elena had sent her partner packing and now stood on the dance floor, tapping her foot and looking like a moody bitch. The onlookers grinned maliciously at the young man she had just pushed away.

Slowly and with annoyingly shaking knees, Severus got up. Again, he caught Stephen’s eyes. The young man was ready to do his business, but Severus shook his head at him. His eyes fell on the glass with the blood-red liquid. With a dejected sigh, he took it and drained it in a few gulps. It tasted horrible and he resisted the urge to retch for a few seconds. Then he gave himself a push and walked up to Elena.

She was standing like a statue, staring into an empty space. Only when he was close to her did she reluctantly turn her head and looked him up and down. Again, no recognition in her eyes. Her eyebrow – Ada’s eyebrow – shot up and a cruel smile played around her lips. “ _Alles klar, Süßer_?” she asked ironically.

It was strange, looking at the face he knew so well, but at the same time looking at a complete stranger. Severus’ throat went dry, he found that he was unable to speak.

“Do you want to ask me to dance?” Elena challenged him in English, still smirking.

“I’m not sure yet”, Severus croaked. His head was spinning a little. The drink, probably.

Elena rolled her eyes. “Well, I can’t do with someone who’s not sure. That’d be a complete waste of time!”

“What is it you want?” Severus asked without thinking.

She glared at him. “What do you mean?”

“You keep pushing one partner after the other away from you …”

“They don’t have a first idea about dancing!”

“Yes, but do you work _with_ them?!” He couldn’t really tell what had made him say that. It was some desperate effort to keep her engaged, to push her off her arrogant balance. And in fact, surprise registered on her face. Severus struggled for words. “Isn’t this what dancing is about?” he demanded. “To work with someone, to find a form of … physical harmony?”

Her mouth quirked. “So?”

“That’s not what you’re doing. Much rather, you dance them into the ground. You dupe them.”

Elena gave a careless shrug. “It’s not my fault when they overestimate themselves. You wouldn’t believe the promises I hear! Every guy wants to give me the perfect dance, they’re all convinced that they can do it! But all this time I’ve been here, I have never met _one single man_ who …”

“You don’t let them”, Snape growled. “You don’t give them half a chance.”

“I don’t, do I?” She gave him an indulgent smile. “So you want me to give _you_ a chance?”

He looked at her face; the large dark-green eyes, the full lips, the film of sweat on her neck and collar bones, slightly moist strands of hair.

“Yes”, he said sternly, “but I’m not going to pay for it.”

Elena scoffed. “Everyone who wants to dance with me needs to pay!” She said it as if it was a well-known fact, much as the sun rising in the East.

“Well, I’m not going to. However, I promise to endeavour to give you a perfect dance, as you wish. Provided you work with me. Help me.”

“Wait a minute!” Now he had her full attention, she looked him up and down. “You want to dance with me, want to give me a perfect dance, but you won’t pay for it and on top of it, I am to work with you??” The way she summed it up, it sounded preposterous.

“Exactly”, he replied as calmly as he could.

She laughed. “And what makes you think I would do that?”

“The hope for the perfect dance, and that it would free you.”

Again, she scrutinized him. “You’re asking an awful lot. I don’t know you! I don’t even know whether you can dance. And now you don’t want to pay?? Are you willing to give _anything_ in return??”

“I’m willing to give much more than you know”, he responded and sought her eyes, held on to them, willed the cool dark green to swallow him up.

“Do you even know how to dance?”

Severus sighed. “I will if you let me.”

She digested this with narrowed eyes; it was obvious that she didn’t quite understand, but there was no denying, either, that she was a intrigued.

“You don’t look like a dancer”, she informed him.

Severus sneered. “Looks are not my strong suit, I know.”

Interestingly, a smile came to her face; it was a little surprised, but generally kind. “You have interesting eyes”, she said quietly. “I have never seen such black eyes.”

He stared at her face to give her full advantage of his eyes, but suddenly she seemed embarrassed, giggled and looked away. With a peculiar thrill, Snape realized that even here – or maybe _especially_ here – she appeared oddly fascinated by him. He had never understood it, this attraction, had often told himself that it was only foolish infatuation; now he found this conviction shaken. Severus touched her wrist to regain her attention. “What will it be?” he asked.

Where did he take this spirit from? Maybe because he saw very clearly now that there was no alternative, that this whole odyssey had been building up to this moment. And it made perfect sense. Achieving stunning aims with magic always required a sacrifice from the one who carried it out. His sacrifice would have to be his fear. And yet, part of him still hoped that she would turn him down.

It was as if she had heard his thoughts. “Alright then”, she said curiously and out of the corner of his eyes, Snape saw her wave Stephen away who was probably trying for the money again. “I don’t usually do this”, she informed Severus, “but there is something about you …” She narrowed her eyes again. “Could it be that I … know you?”

“I don’t think so”, he replied, suppressing a smile, and took her hand.

A broad grin appeared on Elena’s lips as she turned to the band. “You’re an Englishman, aren’t you? – So let’s dance something appropriate. A slow fox, what do you think?”

Severus shrugged. It was all the same to him, anyway. Plus, he was too stunned by the realization that she indulged him and, even worse, that he would indeed have to dance.

But how?

Again, he remembered Ada who had told him that life, in general, was like jumping from a lighthouse and flying. This probably meant that he would have to dance in much the same way. Without thinking, which was almost impossible for him; using his feeling and ‘intuition’, of which he was sure he had none. Once more, he felt his fingers shake; once more, he saw the blurred spectre of dancing Lily and James before his inner eye.

The music started. Soft and slow.

Elena went into his arms. He grabbed her in a way he saw fit, then had to endure that she corrected him, adjusted the height of his arms, the position of his body relative to hers. Already, he could see grins from the tables and he felt his face become sour. With a jolt, he realized that Elena pressed her hip into his as if it was a matter of course. The smell of her hair and sweat reached his nose and he recognized the mix right away, it went into his head and made him dizzy.

“Have you even done this before?” Elena wailed into his ear.

“I told you, you’ll have to work with me”, he growled back.

“I don’t have to do anything”, she pointed out, “it’s _you_ who wants to dance with me!”

“Wrong. I hate dancing. _You_ want that perfect dance, don’t you, to be free of this prison, of your little obsession. That’s why I’ve come. To free you.”

Positioned in his arms, she glared at him. “You’re awfully sure of yourself!”

“No, I’m not”, he replied tersely, “but I don’t have a choice. Nor do you. Or do you wish to stay in this forever?”

She sputtered with laughter. Severus knew well that she considered him an arrogant idiot believing himself to be a gift to the dancing world, but he didn’t care anymore. In fact, he felt peculiarly raucous, like someone who had nothing to lose. Maybe it was that blood-red drink. In any case, he was prepared to make an awful spectacle out of himself because this was what rational thought told him to do. And if he was to do it at all, he might as well do it with his head held high. He had no intention of slouching off that parquetted floor like a beaten dog, as her other partners had.

The music was already in flow, and still he stood with her on the dance floor, with raised outstretched arms, surely looking bloody stupid and without a first idea on what to do. He heard Elena sigh up to his ear. “Slow, quick-quick, slow …”, she murmured and rolled her eyes, “and try starting out with your right foot. – Just a thought.”

How cruel they could be about this. Girls. Women. They probably didn’t even realize it.

“Slow, quick-quick, slow …”

‘Alright’, he told himself, ‘throw yourself from the top of a lighthouse then …’

And he started.

It was very much like beginning to talk in Slovenian earlier. The first steps, too, were very much like that one time when he’d tried to shift the gear of ‘little gnat’ without decoupling first, only there wasn’t a charring noise, but a charring commotion of legs. Sniggers rose up from all around and Severus felt the heat climbing to his face.

However, there was a pull, as well, originating from Elena. In fact, she pulled him with her into the movement, continuing to whisper the rhythm of the dance into his ear. He tried to follow her, not impose his own control over the dance. And as he followed her, he realized that he was really following the music and that it made a bit of sense. A sway took over his body. It was the most peculiar thing to observe, like being put down into a hammock and gently rocked. Like swimming in a river and letting yourself be carried along by the current. Like jumping from a lighthouse, a tower or a cliff, and finding that perfect spot where the laws of gravity suddenly ceased to have effect and allowed him to fly. He went with it.

Again, Elena whispered to him. “It’s fine”, she said calmly, “you can take the lead now.”

Only then did he realize that _she_ had led _him_ up to now. She was indeed helping him, working with him. The realization challenged his spirit and so he tried to take over control.

Again, there was a little charring at first. However, he soon got over it. Led her across the floor, slowly, quickly-quickly, slowly … and after a while, he felt her relax in his arms. He also felt that she was following him now, and she did so very lightly and gently, anticipating his moves. Severus started to get that this was what dancing was all about: the man deciding on the direction, and the woman trying to follow him there as elegantly as possible. He felt the pressure of her hip against his and pressed back, eliciting an instant reaction from her.

Something else happened, as well. Their bodies recognized each other. Even here, in this unreal reality, they spoke to each other, and as he had experienced before this conversation was infinitely more confidential and intimate than the words they dared to exchange. It was as if their bodies had an understanding – and had had it for a while now – that their respective consciousnesses were too slow or too shy to copy. Severus felt Elena’s abandon in his arms, and this made him want to guide her even more, to protect her and to become one with her.

Before he truly and wholly noticed it, they were doing a perfect dance. A perfect slow fox, calm, but elegant, flowing, but with an underlying passion. The principle of this dance was floating, swooning, but with nonchalance, and his limbs had soaked it up, understood it and put it into movements. He had no idea where it came from, this knowledge on how to move. He only knew that the less he thought about it, the more perfect the dance became. It was as if a dormant part of him had always known how to do this, and if he wasn’t wrong – and had understood Ada correctly – this was exactly the case.

It was over before he knew, but he was certain that it had been fine. Severus’ fear had gone, and as the last tunes rang out, he led Elena into a prolonged whirl which she carried out beautifully, gliding into a deep curtsy to which he replied with a formal bow. When Elena looked up, her face was radiant. What was more, everyone in the night club applauded. At first, Snape thought that they were having him on. However, his body told a different story. It, too, applauded him for the perfect harmony he had allowed and even insisted that it had missed something like that, that this feeling of physical one-ness was second best to only one thing …

Elena, still smiling, came up to him. It was the most natural thing that yet again she went into his arms. This time, however, she put her arms around his neck, and for a moment her scent made him light-headed.

“Thank you”, she whispered into his ear. “This was perfect.”

“It wasn’t too bad, was it?” he replied and couldn’t help smiling.

She laughed and murmured something about _Engländer_. “You need to kiss me now”, she informed him with a girlish batting of her lashes.

“Do I?”

“A dance as perfect as this – how can you not seal it with a kiss?”

He wanted to. Yes, he found he needed to. And in this dream world – what the heck?? She would not remember it, but he would. However, he thought of his purpose for being here just in time.

“I _will_ kiss you”, he promised, “if you tell me something.”

She looked up at him innocently and he felt his face split into a grin again. Those eyes … those lips …

“What do you want me to tell you?” she whispered.

“I’m sure you know”, he whispered back, putting his arm around her waist. “It’s what I’ve come here for.”

“I’m afraid I need to hear it.”

He caught her dancing eyes yet again. “The location of the Crowley Academy. Where is it?”

“Oh, that!” She chuckled. “It is so banal, it hardly qualifies as a secret!”

“The banal secrets are the best ones because no one guesses at them.”

“It’s on the grounds”, Elena told him without hesitation or inhibition, “right beside Abrasax House. They call it Abrasax Manor.”

Severus couldn’t help a loud scoff. “Talk about banal!”

“Duh …”

“I’d never have guessed _that_!”

“Which is exactly the point. – What about that kiss then?”

Severus didn’t care that they were still standing in the centre of that dance floor. Whatever happened in Elena’s subconscious would remain in Elena’s subconscious. Buried so deeply, indeed, that even she would never know about it. Also, if truth be told, he was still a little excited about that dance. It had a peculiar way of staying with him, of making him feel very well about himself, and a rare feeling this was.

And so, without hesitation, he scooped her up into his arms and kissed her. Once he had contact with her soft lips, their plump cushion quality, it was like a powerful pull and they quickly sank into a deep and very intense kiss. With her, nothing else seemed possible, he noted at the periphery of his mind. From the audience came whoops and more clapping. However, that went largely unnoticed by the kissing couple. They were, quite literally, immersed into each other.

“Are you sure we haven’t met before?” Elena asked as their lips parted.

“That’d be unlikely”, he responded with a grin. “I’m a bloody _Englander_ , remember?”

“True”, she said, looking thoughtful. “There was a moment there right now, however, when I was almost certain …”

“You know how it is”, he told her as coolly as he could, “as you get older, everyone seems familiar somehow.” Gently, he took her hand and led her – who was finally free – from the dance floor.

“You’re probably right”, she sighed, though with a frown. Severus felt her fingers pressing his hand. “Will you take me with you now?”

“Of course”, he said.

As he took her towards the entrance, they encountered the waiter with the blood-red tie – Stephen Periwinkle – leaning against the doorframe and looking at them with a happy smile.

“And I thought we were stuck here forever!” he called out to Elena.

“Nothing lasts forever, my friend”, she replied cheerfully. “It only lasts for a while.”

Laughing, Stephen stepped aside and made way for them. Severus gave him a nod, and there was an unlikely camaraderie in it.

Reaching into the pocket of his cloak, he touched his wand and issued a relieved “ _Finite Incantatem_ ” …

 

* * *

 

When he found himself sitting on the edge of Elena’s bed again, she was fast asleep, having gone from a hypnotized state to deep slumbers. For a couple of minutes, Severus watched her. He still felt her lips on his, and a slight regret. That it was over, no matter how confusing his little odyssey might have been at some points. Sojourning in a different reality had been oddly enchanting, even if it had been unreal. And then, again, it hadn’t. Certainly everything that Snape had lived through on his travels through Elena’s subconscious would stay with him, shape him. He felt it like a warm glow inside.

He considered letting her sleep, but found that he couldn’t, that he needed someone to talk to. So he murmured a quick Awakening Spell, and a few seconds later she was stretching and yawning, cautiously opening gluey eyes.

“Hi there”, she murmured when she saw him. “Did it work?”

He smiled. “It worked perfectly.”

“So you know …” Her jaw worked, but she found that she couldn’t say more. As far as her conscious thought was concerned, the _Fidelius_ was still firmly in place.

“I know”, he assured her.

She sat up, looking drowsy. “What happened? What did you see?”

He thought about what to tell her. “I met one of your ancestors”, he said eventually.

“Really??” She was wide awake now. “Who??”

“Her name was Ada. She had your eyebrows.”

“Ada … that must have been my great-great-grandmother!”

“She was also a witch. A fierce one, too.”

“Gosh!! You must tell me all about her!”

He considered this for a while, realizing that Ada’s story must be painful for Elena. At the same time, he saw that it was important that she knew about her ancestry, if only to believe in herself more. So he explained to her how he had met Ada, how she had helped him, the kind of magic she had done, but also what she had shown him when they had stood on the top of that bridge. Elena listened attentively and her face changed along with the story.

“You mean”, she whispered eventually, “that this was the reason why there weren’t any witches in my family up until … _me_?”

“Almost certainly”, Severus confirmed. “The combination of trauma and powerful magic can produce … stunning results.”

Elena swallowed. “Does she hate it? That I’m a witch?”

“She is worried, that’s all”, he replied calmly, “you’re her kin, she looks out for you.” He remembered something and started to search the inside pocket of his cloak. “Also, she wants you to have this.”

He handed Elena Abelard Ainsworth’s pen, but not without a list of caution, explained what would happen if she gripped it in a writing position and told her once more to be careful with it. “Ada seems to believe that this will be useful one day. So I suggest you keep it with you at all times.”

She handled the pen extremely carefully, as if it was a brittle egg, while Severus showed her how to change the inscription with his wand. Funnily enough, the words _Forbidden Forrest_ didn’t appear in Slovenian now, but in English. It obviously had something to do with the provenance of the wand one used on it.

“Why the Forbidden Forrest of all places?” Elena cried out. “That is … almost too convenient for coincidence, don’t you think?”

“Not at all”, Severus contradicted her. “Don’t forget that the Forbidden Forrest is near Hogsmeade, the only all-wizarding village in Great Britain. So in case of an emergency, this pen will first take you to a place where no one will instantly find you and that provides sufficient shelter; but it is also close to fellow wizards, if help is needed. Think about it and you will see what a smart choice it is.”

“But why did Ainsworth leave it behind?” Elena asked with a glum expression on her face. “A thing like this … it must be extremely tricky to make and it is clearly an item for an emergency, so why …”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Snape murmured, watching her face that told him that she, too, had guessed.

“You think he’s dead.”

He nodded. “And whoever got to him probably wanted to make it look as if he’d just taken off on his own accord. They may have found that pen, didn’t know what to do with it, so they put it with the other stuff … or that’s what I’m guessing.”

“Why do you think they killed him?”

“Again, I can only guess. But in view of what we found out so far, I wouldn’t put it past Ainsworth at all that he’d be prepared to work with Muggles, help them make synthetic animated creatures, because that’s just the kind of thing Ainsworth would do. I heard once that he made a golem when he was only thirteen.”

“I need to contact this pharma guy …”

“First things first”, Snape interrupted her frowning thought and got up from the edge of the bed. “And you need sleep now.”

“But I already slept a thousand years!”

“No, you haven’t. You may not know it, but tonight you have worked very hard indeed.” _Danced_ very hard, too. But he wasn’t going to tell her that just now.

“Won’t you tell me a bit more about your odyssey?”

“Another time.” He picked up the blanket on the bed and casually dropped it on her, no matter that she was still in her denims and sweatshirt. “It tired me out, too, you know.”

He felt Elena’s eyes on him as he made for the door and muttered a spell to make his steps extra-silent before creeping out of Anna Crawford’s house. Before he opened the door to Elena’s bedroom, he turned around and smiled crookedly at her. “ _Lahko noč, draga Elena, in sladke sanje_ ”, he said and was surprised how effortlessly the foreign words rolled off his tongue.

Elena sat bolt-upright. “You speak Slovenian??”

He couldn’t resist a broad grin. “Something I picked up tonight …”

“Gosh, you pronounce it better than I do! – How …?”

“Ada taught me”, he replied. “Or rather, she made me realize that all sum of experience and knowledge is always there, ready to be accessed …”

Her eyes were huge, she was seemingly impressed. “You _have_ to tell me more about that trip!”

“I will. But now you go to sleep.”

And with that, the slipped out of the cramped box room, crept down the stairs and left the house like a wandering shadow. All the while, a smile was on his face. The trip into her subconscious had brought him closer to her, and the realization warmed his heart.

All the same, he decided that he wouldn’t tell her about the dancing just yet …

 


	29. An Issue of Trust

**An Issue Of Trust**

 

“Elena!! What are you doing??”

“Oops …”

Elena stared. So did Cassie Cleary, but her look of shock quickly changed into one of irritation. “You’ve ruined my dress!” the girl protested.

“Come off it, I didn’t _ruin_ it! Just changed the colour a teensy bit …”

“Elena! This was my best black dress! Now it’s as brown as a heap of …”

“It’ll wear off!” However, Elena’s expression when she took in the mess she’d produced wasn’t so sure.

They were standing in front of a mirror in Cassie’s bedroom, two floors above Cleary’s Clearest Potions. They both wore floor-length dresses with long trumpet sleeves, V-necks and small waistlines. Elena’s was a cherry red; Cassie’s black had undergone a not-quite-so-successful Transfiguration spell.

“It’s those Transfiguration lessons they have me take at the Academy”, Elena complained, “they completely mess up what the Professor taught me!”

“Looks like”, Cassie grumbled and gave her friend a pointed side glance.

“They take a different approach”, Elena explained hurriedly, fidgeting with her wand, “but I’m gonna get it right, just wait …”

“Stop it!!” Cassie made a sharp turn to the side to evade the range of Elena’s wand. “Don’t make it any worse!”

“What can be worse than turd brown?” Elena challenged her. Cassie thought hard about this, then sighed and turned back.

“Why exactly is it that you’re trying to change the colour of my dress?” she asked.

“Because I need you to turn into me at some point”, Elena said behind gritted teeth while she concentrated. “It worked before, remember? At the hearing?”

Cassie made a face. “I don’t even know if I want to go to that Christmas party”, she said.

“Why not??”

“’Cause I don’t like that Crowley woman!”

“I don’t like her either, sweetie, but there’ll be plenty of people and you don’t have to talk to her.”

“Plus”, Cassie went on as if she hadn’t heard her friend, “I don’t like that whole academy business. I don’t even know what you’re doing there!”

“I told you. I can’t talk about it.”

“Yeah, you and your secrets …”

Elena gave her friend a quick smile. “It’s nothing personal.”

“What’s with those rumours about Draco Malfoy, then?”

“We’re … friends.”

Cassie narrowed her eyes. “That’s not what I’ve heard.”

Elena bit her lip while she busied herself examining the dress. She could not bring herself to tell the ‘boyfriend lie’ to Cassie and tried another Transfiguration spell instead. It indeed made the dress red, but a rusty red, not a cherry one. “We’re slowly getting there”, Elena muttered to herself.

“I _do_ get that you’re involved into something”, Cassie went on doggedly, “and it has to do with that academy, the Crowley woman … and Snape, of course …”

Elena gave her another smile, but said nothing.

“Is this also why you need me?” Cassie continued to probe.

“Yes”, Elena replied with a concentrated look on her face, “but only when I manage to jinx that damn dress to the right colour.”

“So … what? You’re going to take off at some point at the party?”

“That’s the plan. At first, I’m going to prance around in my red dress, but when the time’s right, you’re going to be me. We still have to figure out how to get your hair lighter …”

“Like this?” Cassie quickly waved her wand and her dark-brown hair lightened up until it was almost the hue of Elena’s hair.

“Why didn’t you Transfigure your own dress in the first place??”

“Because you wouldn’t let me”, Cassie replied pertly and, with a lazy wave of her wand, turned her dress into a beautiful cherry red.

Elena stared. “Why didn’t you …”

“You were _so_ enthusiastic, sweetie. I didn’t want to steal your thunder.”

“But you _did_ give me hell about the colour!”

Cassie grinned and shrugged. “You’ve been neglecting me. I thought a little revenge was quite in order …”

“Come on!” Impulsively, Elena hugged her friend. “I didn’t mean to neglect you! And I know it must be a total bother with me right now, and I can’t even begin to explain everything …”

“You don’t have to”, Cassie said graciously, “I get it. You’re involved in important things. Secret things. It’s just … I wish …”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t! I’m getting the feeling you’re drifting away, you see? There’re those rumours flying around that Draco Malfoy is your boyfriend …”

“He’s _not_ my boyfriend!” Elena blurted out; she couldn’t help herself. “It’s a … scheme.”

Cassie digested that, then smiled as if she’d intuited it.

“Don’t tell anyone”, Elena piped.

“Don’t worry. People love that rumour far too much to let it go. You have now idea what’s been going around … _Draco Malfoy got himself a Muggle girlfriend … the war must have made him mad …_ ”

“Of course!” Elena scoffed.

“ _… and cuckolding Snape at that_ …”

“Stop it!” Elena shook herself, her cheeks were a hot red. “The way you say it … it sounds …”

“Horrible?” Cassie tilted her head. “You should hear people!”

“I don’t care what _people_ say”, Elena replied as coolly as she could and didn’t even realize the contradiction to her earlier reaction, “and anyway, this is the way we intended it to play out. The rumours are really good for us, especially for what I’m doing at the academy.”

“So I’m to support the rumours? ‘Cause everyone’s always asking me – they think that I should know, as your friend, right? – but I never know what to say … So recently I’ve had to tell them that we’re not that close anymore, and maybe that’s why I’ve started to feel that way …”

“I’m so sorry!” Elena was realizing her mistake and stared at Cassie.

“It’s alright”, her friend lightly waved it away, “but maybe you can understand that the thought of you and Draco made me nauseous at first …”

“He’s not as bad as everybody says”, Elena explained hastily and yet again. “And he’s quite some wizard, too!”

“I have no doubt about that. All the Death Eaters were ‘quite some wizards’ …”

“He has changed”, Elena continued to defend Draco. “He’s been through … a lot … it leaves traces … sometimes good ones …”

“Well”, said Cassie with a generous smile, “I guess you can find beauty in anyone. That’s your speciality, isn’t it?”

Elena’s eyes narrowed. “What d’you mean?”

“What do I _mean_?” Cassie threw back her head and laughed, then looked amusedly at Elena. “Thank you, by the way, for sending Snape our way.”

“Beg your pardon??”

“Don’t you know? He’s been buying his stuff from our shop recently.”

“He has??” Elena had had no idea, but it instantly warmed her heart.

“Yeah, and the thing is, since he’s been coming other people have started to check out the shop, as well. Castor’s completely over the moon. He always used to say how all you need is one good customer whose judgment everybody else trusts and you’re golden. – Well, we’re not exactly ‘golden’ yet, but not quite as grubby as we used to be …”

“I’m glad”, Elena murmured with a catch in her throat, “I really am.” She was glad, as well, to hear that at least in some respect people trusted Severus Snape’s judgment. It didn’t look all that bright in other areas.

Cassie showed her trademark grin. “Good to know you’re still in love with him. I thought that over all that Draco business …”

“What are you saying?!” Elena interrupted her with hot cheeks.

“Come on! Do you think I haven’t noticed? How you get all bug-eyed when you talk about your _Severus_?” Cassie made a mock-pukey face.

“I don’t get bug-eyed!”

“Yes, you do! Like … all the time!!”

Elena bit her lip. It wasn’t her favourite subject right now. Ever since the trip that Severus Snape had taken into her subconscious, she felt acutely that something had changed. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but was certain that it had something to do with what he had seen in the nether realms of her soul. Of course, she had taken any occasion since then to grill him about the experience. However, there hadn’t been that many in the first place because they hardly saw each other; and the very few times she had seen him, it had been next to impossible to get anything out of him. When she pressed him, he only kept repeating the Ada story. Not that Elena wasn’t interested in that – in fact, she was and had started to dream about Ada ever since she’d learnt about her ancestor’s fate – but at the same time she couldn’t get rid of the feeling that Severus used that part of his experience so as to not have to tell her about the rest. – What had happened? Something worrying? Actually, she guessed at embarrassing. He might have seen something that was now putting him off, and to even think about that possibility brought heat to Elena’s cheeks. After all, it might be anything! Secretly, she feared that some of the fantasies she frequently had when lying awake in her bed at night had somehow made it down there. Wasn’t the subconscious where those things went when they were not desired in the outside world, all those repressed dreams and desires …? Wasn’t it the place where all your mess-ups and idiocies went? He might have waded in it, and knee-deep, too!

“Elena, are you alright? You look like you’re going to be sick …”

Elena straightened herself up and tried at a smile. “I’m alright. Just … didn’t get a lot of sleep.”

Cassie saw right away that her friend was only evading, but she accepted it with a sigh. “So what exactly is going to happen at the party then? What do you expect me to do, once you’ve taken off?”

“Nothing special, like I said. You just mingle. I want people to see that ‘the girl in the red dress’ is still there, even if I’m not.”

“And why all this? _Where_ are you going to take off to?”

“Exploring secrets”, Elena replied. It was the plan she had forged with Stephen Periwinkle who’d insisted that the night of the Christmas party was the best possible point in time to show her what he had promised; much as Snape, he appeared to think that the general merriment on such an occasion would provide them with a good opportunity to slip out at some point. No one would notice if Stephen was missing because nobody cared about him, anyway; for herself, however, she needed a ploy which was what Cassie was here for. Only the day before Elena had asked Magrathea Crowley for permission to bring along her friend. The Lady had, of course, remembered Elena’s ‘charming witch friend’ and after a little show of hesitance, she had agreed.

“I’m glad you’re choosing your friends more wisely now, Ms Horwath”, she had chirped. “There’s still the odd exception, of course” – no doubt meaning Stephen – “but way better than Muggles and wizards with a dodgy past.”

How much it had cost her to cast down her eyes and mutter a demure “Yes, Madam”! It reminded her of Severus who’d warned her against letting her pride get in the way of spying. Then, she’d dismissed it, thinking that this was Snape’s problem much more than hers. She’d been wrong.

“Is it dangerous?”

Elena looked up startled. For a second, she had completely forgotten about Cassie’s presence. “What’s dangerous?” she asked irritably.

“What you’re going to do. Exploring secrets and stuff …”

“Not if we’re lucky.”

“And what if you’re not? – I mean, since I’m on the scene anyway, we might go through some emergency procedures so I could help you if …”

“You’re not going to do anything!” Elena declared. “If anything happens and I’m not back by the time the party’s over, you’re to go home, don’t look back …”

“But how can I do that??” The protest rang in Cassie’s voice.

“You must!” Elena insisted. “I could never forgive myself if you got into any kind of trouble on my account. And you’d be on your own! No, the only thing you can do in an emergency is get Snape.”

“What can he do when he’s not even on the scene? Didn’t you tell me that they’re going to Obliviate all the guests so they can’t divulge the location? – Which, by the way, I find outrageous in an open wizarding society!”

Thinking about the location of the academy – as always – produced a slight headache in Elena. “Don’t worry”, she murmured, “he knows.”

“He does? How? I thought you were put under a …”

“Severus Snape is a very resourceful man”, Elena grumbled because it made her think of his odyssey within herself.

“And where am I going to find this resourceful guy in an emergency?”

“Somewhere outside, as close as he can get without being found. I’ll show you an alert spell. Wait for it, it’s neat!” That spell, of course, she had learnt from Severus during the Leshnikov crisis, and they still used it every now and then when they needed to talk to each other.

Cassie let herself be patiently instructed, but there was a deep line on her forehead, above the root of her nose. “Do you have any idea what might be going to happen?” she asked tentatively.

“None at all”, Elena replied curtly.

“Aren’t you scared?”

“If I let that stop me, I need never have applied at the academy.”

“You’re doing a lot for Snape. I hope he doesn’t take it for granted.”

“I don’t do it exclusively for him”, Elena replied a little grumpily.

“No?”

“No!”

“Who for, then?”

“I got attacked by a satyr, remember? And a pack of rabid hellhounds!”

“Would that have happened to you without Snape in your life?”

“No. But then I wouldn’t know how to Transfigure the colour of your dress to a charming turd brown, either!” It made Cassie chuckle, but Elena was in her element. “Nor would we have met, my charming Irish friend, do you realize that?”

“Alright, I get it”, Cassie held up her hand, “and I hope Snape appreciates it. That’s all I’m saying.”

It was in this moment that Elena turned to the window, seemingly observing a blue tit hopping around on the naked wintery branches in front of Cassie’s bedroom window. Cassie Cleary saw the bird, too, but as she wasn’t too interested in feathery creatures, she didn’t pay it any attention; and hence completely missed the stricken expression on her friend’s face.

 

* * *

 

Severus Snape’s face, in this very moment, didn’t look too different, although his situation varied considerably from Elena’s. Of course, he would never be seen cooped up with a friend in a cosy bedroom, discussing clothes and their colours (although there had been a time when he’d gratefully accepted Lucius Malfoy’s advice in that regard, and even the services of his tailor). His present position was far more suitable because once again he was hiding, lurking, spying, and in the pouring rain at that.

The cemetery was a dismal place, spread out behind a sorry brick church the façade of which had been vandalized and smeared on many times. The shrubs were badly kept, weed sprouted beside the down-trodden gravel path and although the graveyard was as quiet as one would expect, it wasn’t a silence of piety at all, but one of neglect. From his vantage point behind the overhanging branches of a willow tree, he saw crumbling tombstones, some of them with graffiti on them. His father’s grave, however, was clean. He could see it from here, the whitish stone with its blackened letters, a style on which his mother had insisted all these years ago, as if it had mattered. It certainly hadn’t mattered to Severus. He couldn’t even remember coming to the funeral, although he knew that he had; hadn’t really wanted to, if truth be told, but hadn’t been able to help himself, either. It had been the way Tobias Snape had died. Pleading to his son, his face contorted by the fierce pain of poisoning. No matter how much Severus had hated him while he’d still been alive, those final hours – in which Severus hadn’t been able to help his father, although he’d tried – had taken away the sting of that hatred, making way for a peculiar kind of numbness. That numbness had stayed with Severus over the years; if pressed, he would have declared that he felt nothing with regard to his father; nothing good, nothing bad, just muted indifference. Over the years, he had convinced himself that this was really so.

However, if it was really so – why had the message of his mother coming here almost every day upset him so? Why did he have this urgent sense that something was going on behind his back, and that he had been tricked somehow, that he was continuously being tricked?

Of course, he was honest enough to himself to realize that this was probably paranoia, the toll of the last decade. At the same time, it could not be denied that he had a good nose for anything fishy – it was what had made him into a good spy. This was why he had left Hogwarts immediately after lessons and Apparated in this cemetery, hiding himself, waiting patiently. He had to know. He had to scratch this itch Gilly had given him the moment she’d told him about his mother’s visits to this place.

She made him wait almost an hour, during which he stood in infinite patience, immovable, a stiff breeze carrying rain and snow blowing into his face. Severus ignored the cold creeping into his bones. He knew she would come, because she was like him in things like that: dogged, loyal, pursuing her interests and obsessions with a never-varying routine.

The wait gave him time to think; and invariably, his mind went back to his little odyssey into Elena’s subconscious. He had expected that once he had achieved to circumvent the Fidelius charm put on her in order to protect the Crowley Academy’s location, the event would be over and done with. Mission accomplished, move on to different pursuits. However, he now found that it was more easily said than done.

Time and again, and quite in spite of himself, Severus kept recapitulating what had happened, the situations he had encountered. He was still deciphering it all. The scene in the café which was a representative of the conflict put upon Elena by introducing her into the magical world, thus separating her from her life as it had been before. Snape would never have guessed that this was a problem for her, specifically because she never spoke about it. Maybe, she didn’t even know it herself, or acknowledge it. From his point of view, she should considered herself lucky that he had given her an opportunity to leave that insignificant Muggle life of hers for something greater. However, as he had seen, that wasn’t entirely the way it had been for her. Then there was the added problem of Ada’s ban …

It was a fascinating twist in Elena’s family story. Severus kept wondering about it. There was no doubt in his mind, that Ada – Elena’s great-grandmother – had been an very powerful witch; he’d felt it at every turn, Ada’s attitude and the immense charisma that had rendered the small dumpy woman almost beautiful. It had been a fascinating encounter, and again one that told him a lot about Elena and the magic she had inherited. Specifically, the Ada story had led him to believe that a lot of Elena’s powers were still repressed. He was beginning to think how lucky it was that she had never developed an _Obscurus_ ; he was also beginning to think that, if properly educated and _unblocked_ , her powers could be even more considerable than he had expected; and that made him feel excited in a very odd way …

At the same time, all this was circumstantial and not really what had been on his mind since his magical trip. He only kept pondering it to distract himself.

Distract himself from what?

The memory of the dance. The perfect dance, their bodies in complete unison and the astounding ease of it.

Then the memory of the kiss. The intensity of it and the tenderness. And the surprising discovery that even down there, in the deepest folds of her subconscious, she loved him. It was the most compelling message he’d been able to take away with him.

Granted, she had told him so before. However, he hadn’t believed it, had feverishly tried to protect himself by declaring her feelings to be mere infatuation. But he knew enough about the workings of consciousness – and its nether regions – to appreciate that superficial attraction didn’t reach that deep. It had dawned on Severus very slowly after his odyssey: the situation in which he had found her – a prisoner in a dingy night club as a dancer, doomed to forever change partners until she found that ‘perfect dance’ – was nothing but a symbol of her need for him. Only he had been able to liberate her; only he had been able to give her that perfect harmony. Although it sounded infinitely arrogant, it wasn’t wrong to say that her inner world was … somehow … linked to him.

Thinking about this made his spine tingle peculiarly. He didn’t quite trust this realization yet, tried to find the fly in the ointment which was why he went over the events again and again. Still, he always came out at the same end, and with every new thought process he came an inch closer to believe and trust; not to mention the stupid grin he felt spreading on his face every time. He felt it right now, waiting in his hiding place, no longer master over the corners of his mouth. An irresistible urge to chuckle. However, he was professional enough a spy to stifle it.

The surer he became of the evidence he had – which he had, after all, seen with his own eyes, held in his own arms, tasted with his own tongue … – that her feelings for him were true, the more he felt his pretence crumbling away. His firmly held view that he couldn’t possibly be a _boyfriend_ , that he wouldn’t let a young woman make such a fool of him, that it was undignified, and at his age at that, to start over like an adolescent, had been a mere façade, protecting him from the possibility of rejection and ridicule. He saw it clearly now, and it was those attempts that appeared laughable in this moment. Suddenly – and surprisingly – he found that the opinion of others meant nothing to him anymore. Not if she was with him. They could sneer all they wanted, as long as _she_ wanted him …

So what to do with this revelation?

Severus didn’t know. He had no idea what the next step might be. Or what a – even his mind hesitated at the word – _relationship_ might look like. Then he remembered – almost gratefully – that there was nothing to be done right now. Strictly speaking, he should see her as little as possible or only when absolutely necessary in order to keep up their ruse. Severus breathed with relief. That gave him time to think about what to do now, how to let her know that his trust in her had changed, that he was ready to reconsider, to find a way … At the same time, this being so irritated him. Ever since that kiss, however real it might have been, he couldn’t help remembering her warmth, her scent, all those memories of the night of the lighthouse stirred up. He was longing for her physical closeness and the chance to forget about the world for a while in her embrace.

“Stop it”, he grumbled to himself. This was not the time and place to indulge in sensual dreaming, particularly since that would happen at night – and not to forget mornings! – anyway.

He focussed on the task at hand, watching his father’s grave, waiting for his mother’s appearance.

However, since nothing happened, his mind started to wander again and soon after that he caught himself pondering practicalities. The living situation, in particular, was something that occupied his mind. If they were going to be a _couple_ – he felt a strange shiver when allowing the term into his mind – he was pretty certain that he wanted her with him at as much as possible. Severus was surprised at how certain he was about this – he, the recluse who had trouble tolerating ninety-nine-point-nine per cent of humanity – but it felt right to him. He imagined her in his Hogwarts quarters; he was brave enough to imagine her stuff – books, clothes, even the inevitable music CDs – strewn across his space, but was unprepared for the thrill the image gave him. He imagined giving her his mind about the chaos and liked that even better because of its vividness. Of course, she would ignore him. Or argue with him. He didn’t really care, all of it was enchanting.

But impossible.

She couldn’t live with him at Hogwarts. The school regulations were very clear on that, only professor’s spouses were allowed, not informal cohabitation as, of course, it would be a bad example to the precious tykes. The situation was worth a growl.

What then?

He avoided the obvious consequence and went on to the idea of letting her live at his house at Spinner’s End. However, he didn’t like the idea much as he had only brittle emotional ties to the place. The fact that Elena lived across from his house right now rendered the idea even more stupid as there was simply not enough change in it, considering the gravity of the step. Plus, it would feel to him as if he was installing a mistress in a private place to visit in the evenings. Although the thought had a certain thrill to it, he didn’t like it much and wrinkled his substantial nose. – Find a different situation then? Hogsmeade, maybe? There were bound to be places up for rent that were well affordable to him, and she would be near …

He looked up with a jolt. A dark-clad figure had just appeared at the other end of the gravel path, relegating all of Severus’ thoughts to the back of his mind in an instant. He recognized his mother immediately, and he noticed, too, how unconcerned her gait was, light, almost young. She felt safe, didn’t expect to be watched. Not even the mix of rain and snow appeared to bother her as she held her head high and proceeded to Tobias Snape’s grave. In his hiding place, Severus thought he heard murmuring, as if she was actually greeting her husband’s rotting bones down in the ground. Snape scoffed and watched in fascination as his mother swiftly plugged out some weeds from around the grave. After that, she straightened up, glanced briefly over her shoulder – there was no one about in this wet and cold – calmly took out her wand and cast a spell onto the grave.

Severus narrowed his eyes in order to see better. Yet, from this distance he was unable to tell what exactly she was doing. He couldn’t properly see the spell’s arc for the downpour, the colour it took, and even if he’d been closer he couldn’t have been sure. However, he got the distinct feeling that his mother was looking for something.

But what would she be looking for on his father’s grave??

He stared at the witch in the rain, on the grave. It was an archaic picture, and for some reason he was again reminded of Ada who’d left a far deeper impression than he’d first realized. However, Severus pushed the thought away deliberately to focus on what was happening at his father’s grave. He was considering walking over to his mother and confronting her, when something else happened.

Another small, black-clad figure had magically appeared near Tobias Snape’s grave, tentatively walking up to Eileen from behind. Severus muscles tensed, he gripped his wand. He was ready to come out of his hiding place and help, if need be. But then he heard a voice, though not the words that were spoken, and he saw his mother wheel around. In the next moment, it was _her_ voice that rang shrilly across the graveyard. “What do you want from me??!”

The person that had approached her wore a wide cloak with a hood and Severus saw a pair of well-polished boots, but not the face. He understood, however, from the body’s posture that this encounter was no real threat to his mother. The new arrival gave off all the signals of appeasement; only it didn’t look to Snape as if his mother was in a mood to take them into account. As always, she preferred making a fuss.

The conversation was short and heated, obviously curtailed by a string of snappy remarks on Eileen’s behalf. The person who was trying to talk to her didn’t stand a chance and was duly chased off with a few threatening wand waves. Severus watched from his hiding place, half-amused. He needn’t have worried; Eileen knew how to stand her ground, and the only man that had ever stumped her … well, she was standing on top of his bones right now. Also, Severus had just aborted the plan of confronting his mother and decided on a different approach. It was the better by far because he knew her and that she would never tell him anything if he tried to force her to do so.

Instead, he watched as the black-clad figure walked away with a posture of dejection. Suddenly alert, Severus came out of his hiding place, but walked in a different direction, taking a detour that would allow him to cut off the mysterious stranger’s path. He’d have to make it quick before the hooded figure Disapparated.

It was more difficult than he’d expected. The black-clad figure sensed Snape’s presence, had their wand at the ready in a second and so Severus had to dive into the shadows of the dripping trees with a Camouflaging spell. It didn’t put the other guy at ease, though – Severus was certain now that it was a man – yes, he showed all the signs of a seasoned fighter with well-practiced instincts that told him that he was being followed. While Snape was stalking him, half hidden in shadows and drifts of sleet, the cloaked figure remained on his guard, moving like a cat on the prowl, body as tense as a coiled spring. Severus was acutely reminded of the intruder who had ransacked his office and home less than two months ago. He’d be damned if this wasn’t the same man! Snape felt his bile rise – he thought of Lily’s picture that had been stolen from his sitting room – and suppressed a growl.

In the end, he had to jump the guy. Tear him to the ground and then, while he was still recovering, Disapparate him somewhere else, safe ground, close to home. It was easy to throw the mysterious stranger down onto pine needles and crusts of snow because he was no more than a wisp, even compared to Severus’ thin frame. Fiercely, Snape grabbed at the other man’s throat, tore off the hood.

“McVey!!”

With a swift movement, the other wizard literally slipped from Severus’ grasp and rolled over the ground. But Snape was prepared this time and pinned him down with a spell that pressed the small lithe man into the ground. A string of squeaky swear words came from him as he tried to get out in vain.

Severus straightened up and allowed himself a breather while keeping his wand trained on the other guy. His heart was pounding, with the physical effort as well as with anger. He took a quick look around and recognized the Forbidden Forest to which he had Apparated himself and McVey without thinking. It made sense, was close to home and help if needed. No doubt, Abelard Ainsworth had had a similar line of thought when manufacturing his pen portkey.

On the ground, Finn McVey was panting hard, but he had stopped wriggling and obviously resigned himself to his fate.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, Snape”, he croaked with an impertinent grin on his face, “am I wrong or has your jinx lost its bite?”

“Good enough to keep the likes of you under control”, Severus spat viciously.

“Ah, age … it gets us all …”

“Shut up!” Severus could only just control himself enough not to hit the guy with a Stunning spell. He would have loved to. Trouble was, he had no use for him unconscious. “Why were you bothering my mother?”

McVey looked at him blankly, peering up with blinking eyes. The grin was still there, but he didn’t speak. Snape remembered that he had only just commanded the man to shut up and that he was taking him literally. With a hiss, he lashed his wand at McVey, producing a superficial gash on his forehead that made blood run over his pointy goblin face.

“Speak! What kind of business do you have with her?!”

“Since when is it a crime to speak politely to a witch? Actually, it’s your mother whose manners could do with a little polishing …”

“You go on like that and I show you a little _polishing_! I’ve seen enough, McVey, I know that you were bothering her, and probably not for the first time either, so …”

“You’re in dangerous territory here, Snape”, McVey interrupted him with a warning glance, “as you know, I have good connections to the Ministry. I wonder what they would say to your kidnapping a man and interrogating him without good reason …”

“Without good reason, huh?” Snape issued an evil chuckle. “How about you ransacking my office and home, then? …”

“Ah! You must have me confused!” McVey cried right away, still smirking. “Why on earth would I …”

“’Cause you’d do anything if the money was right!!” Snape roared at him.

This time no reply came, but another crooked grin which Severus took as an admission. “Make no mistake, I keep an eye on people like you”, he said menacingly, “and I know that you work for the Crowleys which is probably why you intruded into my office, to find stuff that they could use against me, they probably pay you very well to do their dirty work …”

“You’re being paranoid, Snape!” McVey blurted out and started to wriggle again. Probably, the cold and wet from the ground was starting to get into his clothes. With an evil expression, Severus increased the pressure of his Fixing spell and McVey’s moan was music in his ears. “You have no proof of this!” the man on the ground panted.

“Wrong!” Snape cried triumphantly, raised his wand and muttered “ _Legilimens_ ”. Only a second later, he saw it as clear as in a movie, only that he never went to the movies: McVey snooping around in his office, frantically opening drawers, tearing stuff out of shelves, searching, although it didn’t become clear what exactly he was looking for, and Severus didn’t find out because before long his own form appeared on the office doorstep (at the periphery of his mind, Snape noted with relief that he was still able to make quite the menacing entry) and a chaotic fight ensued. Snape broke off the spell and stared at McVey who was suddenly blinking hard. “That’s all the proof I need”, Severus growled silkily. “Now, let’s start again: what is it that you want?”

To Snape’s surprise, McVey’s dark eyes became hard. “I’d rather die than tell you”, he drily informed Severus.

“Don’t be dramatic!” Snape spat, but felt distinctly surprised. “Lest I put it to the test …”

“Good idea. Kill me, why don’t you and go to jail for it. My immortal soul would have such a ball, it’d be worth dying!”

“No one goes to jail for killing vermin”, Snape hissed, glaring down at McVey in disgust.

“Aren’t you a bit harsh?” Clearly, McVey was trying to bring back the ridicule, the corners of his mouth jumped convulsively. “There used to be times when we fought side by side …”

“Yeah, but for entirely different reasons! All you ever did you did for money!”

“And you out of conviction! Like that’s so much better!”

Severus twitched irritably because the man had a point there, however one that was completely inconsequential to the situation at hand. “I’m asking you again”, he said with his silkiest and at the same time most dangerous voice, “why were you bothering my mother?”

McVey clearly underestimated the situation because he gave his eyes a comic roll and – shrugging as good as his supine position allowed – piped “Ask your mother!”

“You know, you might not be worth killing”, Severus pressed forth between clenched teeth, “but I can assure you that living with the effects of a _Sectumsempra_ for the rest of your sorry existence is something you will not like!”

“Jinx me, then”, McVey replied with another shrug, “’cause fact is, I _can’_ t tell you. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.”

“Don’t give me the Fidelius excuse!” Snape thundered. “It’s getting old!”

“Doesn’t mean it’s a lie”, McVey croaked. “Come on, Snape, you know exactly who my employers are. When they protect an entire school that way – and don’t tell me you don’t know about it! – what do you think they’ll do to a half goblin?!”

“Got yourself involved with the wrong crowd”, Snape remarked drily, “you of all people! I remember the olden days when you’d sell your grandmother to anyone, even the Dark Lord, but would never be put on a leash …”

“Still call him _the Dark Lord_ , do you? How nostalgic.”

“Stick to the point. How did the Crowleys get their hooks into you?”

When there was no reply, Snape scrutinized McVey with raised eyebrows and understood. “It’s personal. They’ve got something on you.”

“Smart as a bloody whip”, sighed Finn McVey.

“What is it?”

“I just told you …”

“This is your last chance to tell me, McVey, before I _Legilimens_ it out of you!” It had worked before, Severus thought by himself, why not this time?

“DON’T DO THAT!!” All of a sudden, the wizard on the ground – where he was still firmly held by the pressure of Snape’s spell, the greenish arc from his wand gleaming peculiarly in the early winter dusk – looked … well, not alarmed exactly, but panicked. Snape noted this with interest and couldn’t resist leaning on it.

“Come on, McVey, you know that’s what I do!” he said mockingly and made to lift his wand a little.

“SNAPE!” The other wizard’s voice rang shrilly through the Forbidden Forest. “I know, you and me, we have never exactly been friends …”

“That’s quite an understatement!”

“… but you don’t want me to die a painful and agonizing death, do you?” In spite of the cold, there was sweat on the half-goblin’s face.

“A simple _Legilimens_ never killed anyone”, growled Snape, but the words were hardly out of his mouth when he realized that this wasn’t exactly true. He had seen something like that, a _Legilimens_ coming close to killing someone, and it hadn’t been all that long ago, in the dungeons of the Ministry of Magic, to be precise.

“Not the _Legilimens_ , no, but …”

“… the spell that was put on you”, Severus finished for him, quite in spite of himself.

“I’ve seen it”, croaked McVey, “blood coming out of nose, eyes and ears … it means sure death.”

“Not exactly”, corrected Snape, “but it gets close.”

“So you know?” McVey’s eyes had become wide and shone in the half-dark like two moody black pools.

“I’ve seen that kind of magic, too”, Snape murmured. With a sudden wave of his wand, he allowed McVey off the ground, but performed a Binding spell that pinned the wizard’s hands behind his back so he wouldn’t become a bother. “I’ve wondered about it …”

“It’s Dark Magic, coming from those parts of the Continent where magic is at its most original. Eastern Europe … Albania, Transylvania … I’m sure you’ve heard about the political changes about ten years ago?”

“Those concerned the Muggle world.”

“Do you still believe those don’t interact with the magical sphere, Snape? Believe me, there’s a lot that’s been contained over there for a very long time, but now it’s been let loose … Do you think it’s a coincidence that all those turn-overs in the Muggle world occurred while Voldemort was there, recovering in the forests of Albania …?”

“Lot of superstition there, if you ask me”, mumbled Snape.

“’Superstition’ is a term invented by Muggles, Snape!” McVey pointed out heatedly.

However, Severus didn’t listen. His thoughts were following a crooked path, including Mind Ties, Pavel Leshnikov, encrypted papers, hellhounds and satyrs … the Golem … alchemy … Abeldard Ainsworth … Biocelos … However, there wasn’t such a thing as a red thread; much rather, it was a whirl, and any context was tentative at best.

“Snape?!”

“What?!” Severus looked up irritably.

“Don’t _Legilimens_ me.” It was almost as if McVey had said a pretty ‘please’.

“I may cry …”

“If you absolutely need to know, ask your mother.”

“Ah, to her you could talk about it?”

“The spell put on me allows sufficient … range to pursue my investigations. In this case it means that I can talk to her about certain things, but not to you.”

Snape digested this, tried to gauge out what it meant. He wasn’t quite prepared to let go of the _Legilimens_ idea just yet. Maybe try and see what would happen and break off the spell if things got too messy? Then, however, he would have to take care of a bleeding and panicking McVey, and that wasn’t what he wanted, either.

McVey followed the changing expressions on Snape’s face warily, and it was a little as if he, too, was reading minds. “Snape”, he said tensely, “don’t! Ask your mother, if you must!”

“Problem is, she won’t tell me.”

“Or your girl, then.”

Severus couldn’t help the jolt that went through him. It was like an electric shock, or how he imagined an electric shock would feel like. And in the process, he _might_ have stared too hard at McVey, because the obnoxious idiot was starting to grin again. “I see. She didn’t tell you.”

The words were like a punch to his stomach; at the same time he knew that McVey wasn’t trying to trick him and was telling the truth Severus clearly remembered his conversation with Elena about her meeting with McVey that he had found out about through Draco. He also remembered her protestations that there was nothing going on behind his back, that she had brushed McVey off. Hadn’t he, at the time, felt an itch, as if she hadn’t told him everything? However, he had ignored it. Ignored it, because he was continuously being an idiot where that damn woman was concerned!

It took all his self-control not to show the feelings that were squirming inside of him. McVey’s smirk didn’t make it any easier, particularly as it had become sympathetic.

“I heard about her and Malfoy”, the words were rendered in a delighted purr. Severus could have hit him and grabbed his wand tighter to resist the urge. “Must have been quite the blow.”

“Careful”, Snape growled and saw the other man biting down on a chuckle.

“And she’s at the Academy now”, McVey prattled on all the same, “I bet you didn’t see _that_ coming?”

“She needs to be taught”, Severus said as coldly as he could, “and I had no say in the establishment she chose.”

Again, McVey tried hard to look maudlin. “These young girls …”

“So you see, the _Legilimens_ idea is looking bright again”, Severus said silkily, enjoying the changing mood on the other’s face.

“Well”, McVey said with a mock-brave swallow, “if you must …”

“What happened to the picture?” Snape broke in.

“Beg your pardon?”

“The photograph you took from my home!”

“Photograph?” McVey’s face was blank, except for a diminutive jump at the corner of his mouth.

Inside, Severus sighed. He could start the whole Legilimens dance all over and prove to McVey that he was lying, but where would it get him? He didn’t want to let the guy go, but it was true that he couldn’t keep or hurt him, either. He was, after all, working for Aeneas Crowley and hence, by extension, for the Ministry. He was well protected and Snape had to be careful in how he handled the guy. – At the same time, all this had just become entirely insignificant. His thoughts were with Elena, or – rather – with Elena and McVey, the things they had spoken about, the understanding they had reached behind his back. Something having to do with his mother which was reason enough for Severus to be come to the conclusion – without knowing what the whole thing was about – that Elena should have told him a long time ago. He was half-convinced that she had betrayed him. The other half, however, refused to believe it. Not now. Not after all the thoughts he had entertained earlier when he had – foolishly – dreamt of a future, a future in which she was part of his life.

He felt cold sweat on his back.

His throat had become dry.

He needed to talk to her. Now.

Momentarily, he vented his anger and confusion at McVey; grabbed the man by the neck, warned him with flashing eyes and his trademark hiss to stay away from his mother, from him and from anything having to do with him or he would enjoy Legilimensing him to death. McVey imitated meekness, but his eyes were glittering and it was clearly hard for him to keep the smirk to himself. As soon as Snape let him, he Disapparated away, but not without one last remark.

“You’re only looking at the surface yet, Snape. There’s far more than you can guess …”

Alone in the Forbidden Forest, Severus thought that this was probably a warning of sorts and judging from what had happened so far, he was inclined to take it seriously. Right now, however, he couldn’t concentrate on the remark and its implications. He was upset, itchy. The thought of having to confront Elena made his skin crawl. However, he knew that he would not find any peace unless he did it right away …

* * *

 

When he came back to Spinner’s End, his mother was there, her cheeks rosy which hardly ever happened unless she ventured out into the cold, and her face bright. Obviously, she was in conversational mode and no doubt had her story ready (after a warning from Gilly, probably), should he ask. However, Severus found that nothing bothered him less right now than the shenanigans of this woman. All he needed to know was Elena’s part in it.

Part in what? Did she actually have a ‘part’? Had she acted behind his back? Was there something that she hadn’t told him, but should have?

He shoved Eileen aside impatiently as he strode into the sitting room. Her protestations were nothing but static in his ears. From the window, he checked that the Chinese lampion was on, that Elena was home, then summoned her with an Alert spell that would make her wand respond. All the while, he was extremely on edge. Something inside of him resisted believing it, didn’t want to let go of the enchanting images he had entertained only an hour ago, in his hiding place at the cemetery. ‘Bloody fool’, he scolded himself. That was exactly where an overflow of emotions got you! As if he hadn’t known that something like this would happen!

His mother continued to talk at him while he prepared himself to leave the house. Only an hour ago, his plan had been to trap her with a range of cunning questions so that she couldn’t escape telling him where she’d been and why. He was much too upset for such schemes now. He left the house with determined strides, his back bombarded by Eileen’s questions that the bang of the front door brutally cut short.

He waited, seated in ‘little gnat’, for only three minutes before Elena tore the door open, slipped into the car and, as always, smiled at him brightly. Then she saw his face, and hers fell, as well. She knew that this was serious, had probably sensed it due to the unexpected summons.

She didn’t ask, but let him talk. He stated, as curtly and unemotionally as he was able to, what he had learnt today from Finn McVey, that the latter had had some kind of dealings with his mother that he, Snape, wasn’t allowed to know about and couldn’t find out about, either; that, however, in the course of what Severus called ‘discussion’ a detail had surfaced that he now needed to know about. At that point, Elena’s eyes became wary.

‘No, please!’ Severus groaned inside, but he forced himself to stay calm, to keep his voice from trembling and went on stating his case.

“You may see my point”, he drawled when he had finished. “As you know, I am well aware of your meeting with McVey. We discussed this. And if I remember correctly, I asked you at the time to tell me everything that had … transpired between the two of you. I believed then what you told me. – Now, however, I must admit I am not so sure. And I must insist on you telling me the truth. Is there anything you’ve been hiding from me?”

Again, she looked at him with those large forest-green eyes. Just how many secrets could a forest as deep as this harbour? The numbers must be staggering. And for some reason, those eyes tore at his heart because he didn’t want to not see them anymore, but in order to look into them and lose himself in them, he needed to trust her. Anything else was unthinkable. He caught himself thinking, almost praying, ‘Don’t lie to me now, please, don’t …’

It seemed like an eternity before, finally, she said “Yes”.

Another punch in the stomach. But he wasn’t able to scream at her, all he could do was control the tremor in his hands. He stared at his long white fingers and said “Go on.”

She gave a deep sigh. “Severus, you must believe me that I never went behind your back. Everything I told you then about my meeting with McVey was true. However, there is something he wanted me to do for him that I haven’t told you about, chiefly because I never did it.”

An impetuous quirk of his eyebrows made her hurtle on. In a voice that was suddenly hoarse, she launched into a peculiar story about a game of gobstones.

At first, he couldn’t believe his ears. A game of gobstones? What the hell was this?? For a second, he entertained the idea that she was somehow trying to distract him, put wool over his eyes, but that was the point that his mother appeared in the story, and not only his mother, but Magrathea Crowley, as well.

“McVey seems to think”, Elena went on haltingly, “that there is some kind of connection between Magrathea and your mother, although personally I don’t see how they could know each other, they’re completely different ages and all that … anyway. That was what he asked me. To spy out your mother. Because of that red stone. I guess he reckoned that I was close enough to do it. – And yes, I admit that it intrigued me at first! I didn’t make any promises to McVey, but, well, to be perfectly honest, I thought about it. You were constantly telling me how put out you were by her visit, and that you didn’t know what she was doing here, so … But then …”, she broke off, breathed, “then you told me about … what happened to your father … or what you _think_ happened to your father … And that was when I knew that I couldn’t … And I never did! I swear, Severus, I never talked to Finn McVey after that!”

Elena held his gaze almost obsessively now, willing him to believe her. Snape saw that her hands, too, were trembling. Attentively, he studied her face. It was like an open book.

“ _Legilimens_ me if you don’t believe me!” she demanded heatedly, her eyes intense.

Severus said nothing. He thought it in order to let her suffer a little. At the same time, he was busy letting the wave of relief wash over him. Also, he thought that McVey was a colossal ass. He’d wanted to throw Snape off balance and certainly had succeeded in going through her. The man had probably sensed that trust issues were Severus’ soft spot, too, that he would upset an equilibrium by taking this course. – Suddenly, from deep inside, he felt the irresistible urge to laugh, but suppressed it and at the same time felt himself deflate.

“ _Legilimens_ me!”

He looked up in confusion, at her angry eyes.

“No need. I believe you”, he said quickly.

He literally saw her deflate, as well, in a large heaving sigh. Before he knew it, her face fell against his shoulder and her fingers sneaked into his hand. And suddenly, to his immense surprise, she started to whisper against the lapels of his cloak, as if in a fever. “That was it, wasn’t it? The reason why you were so quiet and so distant? I thought it was something you’d seen inside me, you know, my subconscious; I’d thought that it had put you off. But that wasn’t it, was it?”

He turned his head towards her and chuckled a little. Again, he was surprised at how sensitive she was to his moods, picking up every tiny change and putting her own, sometimes twisted interpretation on it. What had been brooding on his part – with regard to his odyssey in her subconscious – she had taken as retreat. “No, that wasn’t it”, he said, and in spite of himself it came out as a whisper, as well.

“You don’t hate me?”

“No.”

“You don’t want to never see me again?”

He half-scoffed. “No.”

Then it occurred to him that this was uncharacteristic. Ordinarily, he should have been mad at her for keeping anything from him, no matter what it was, inconsequential or not. The mere fact that she’d been initiated into a story – and involving his mother, at that – and hadn’t immediately informed him would have angered him in any other circumstance. He noticed this and thought about it while Elena held his fingers as if in a vice. And with immense surprise he realized that he just didn’t _feel_ like getting angry, not about this. Not when the price he had to pay were the dreams he’d indulged in earlier. Saving them, keeping them was suddenly infinitely more important.

Severus listened to her deep breathing at his side. He sought he could hear tears when she inhaled. He caught himself absentmindedly stroking her hand with his thumb.

Suddenly he felt like telling her about that kiss. She would like that, he was certain of it, and that he could be so certain was distinctly enchanting. However, he decided against it, as much as he would have wanted to, anticipating her demand of a ‘real’ kiss as she had not consciously participated in the last one. It was simply not the right time. They were involved in an investigation and were leading the world to believe that they were not connected anymore. This would have to wait. Holding her hand and waiting until she’d calmed down was as good as it would get right now.

They sat very quietly for several minutes, the brief emotional turmoil slowly and deliciously ebbing away. Only then did Severus shift in his chair. Gentler than was his usual mode, he put a hand under her chin and made her look at him.

“Now. I need to hear that Gobstones story again. In detail, if you please.”

 


	30. Vandalized

**Vandalized**

 

The following Saturday morning, Eileen Snape – who had recently resorted to calling herself Eileen Prince – started her day as usual, with a frugal breakfast consumed in the kitchen, perusing the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ and instructing Gilly the house-elf on the chores of the day. Not that there was much to be done – the little creature had worked wonders on the dismal little house and even Eileen was ready to admit that it had never looked better on the inside. However, when it came to house-elves, occupation was key in her mind and Eileen was quite inventive in finding out strategies to keep Gilly busy. Today, she wanted her helpmeet to sort out the cellar.

“Sweep it up properly, get a kind of system into the chaos my son has produced down there …”, she started to list the jobs that she could think of off the top of her head.

“The master doesn’t like anyone to mess with his potions stuff”, Gilly interrupted her mistress adamantly, “he tell Gilly many times not to go down there …”

“Don’t be silly, he’s hardly using the cellar anymore. Whatever potions he still concocts these days he does at Hogwarts. Here, he doesn’t even bother to keep his stocks in shape!” From her sour expression, it was obvious that Eileen didn’t approve and considered the amount of time her son spent outside his home as something close to desertion.

From Gilly’s confused expression, it was obvious that she was at sea with the mother-son situation that she was supposed to juggle. She sensed that it was all about something else than just issues of orderliness. “Gilly think that what looks like chaos to the Mistress is not chaos to the Master. Gilly think the Master has a system, because the fragments of chaos are always in the same place …”

Eileen interrupted the flow of piped-out words by impetuously raising her hand. “Gilly! Did I bring you here to work or to think?”

“Gilly don’t … she …”, the huge eyes stared down on the wooden floorboards and the ears dropped, “to work, Mistress.”

“You’ll see”, Eileen went on breezily, “your Master won’t even notice, holed up as he is in that school ....” Eileen broke off and darkly stared out of the window, sighing; it was important to her to let Gilly feel that she was lonely and neglected by a son who didn’t care for his mother as much as he should; letting Gilly know that she was actually quite glad to have Severus out of her hair for most of the day would never have occurred to her. She had appearances to keep up. “I’ll have no discussion on this. You’ll clean the place, and if you catch any heat about it from my son, you’ll let me know.”

“Yes, mistress”, Gilly said with a tormented sigh. Loyalties were the hardest part of her life, she just couldn’t help getting caught up in a jungle.

As if Eileen had sensed what was going on inside the little creature, she scrutinized her. “Did he meet _her_ in that Muggle car again?”

Not only Gilly’s ears dropped, but her shoulders, too. “Gilly don’t know”, she murmured, frantically scrubbing at the kitchen counter with a dirty rag.

“Gilly. Don’t lie to me.”

The command was short and dry, like a cough, but the house-elf reacted immediately, as if through conditioning. “Two days ago. Gilly see the master go to the playground, which is where …”

“I know where they keep that abomination”, Eileen grumbled while she gathered up the newest copy of the _Daily Prophet_ from the small table.

Gilly watched her mistress carefully out of the corners of her eyes. She felt the urge to soften Eileen’s mood. “The master knows how to drive with it”, she said with a tremor of admiration in her voice, “Gilly see it, he drive it all around the block!”

Eileen scoffed derisively. “It’s nothing. Not the merest _trace_ of magic involved. Even my late husband was able to drive one of those, and he certainly wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box!”

Gilly bit her lower lip, focussed on her rag again.

“It’s undignified”, Eileen went on bitterly, “a grown wizard, and one of Severus’ status, playing around with Muggle toys! You should not admire such behaviour, Gilly.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“It’s that girl, of course. She’s giving him ideas. Soon she’ll have him paint her toe nails!” Eileen shook her head, then the _Daily Prophet_.

Gilly opened her mouth and wanted to remind Madam Prince that Elena Horwath had saved her son’s life. However, she refrained from it at the last moment, earlier experience occurring to her. It wasn’t something Eileen liked to be reminded of.

“So she still has her hooks in his flesh”, Eileen growled, her eyes on the headlines. “No matter that she’s gallivanting around with that Malfoy boy, she’s got them both on a string!”

“Draco Malfoy?” A disbelieving expression ran away from Gilly’s face.

“That’s what everyone says”, Eileen said dryly with no intention of elaborating who ‘everyone’ was, “though it’s hard to conceive. Draco Malfoy comes from a good family. Why would he burden himself with that little Muggle ingénue?”

Gilly had no answer to that. She found the whole thing very strange. Although she was trying hard not to have disloyal thoughts, she couldn’t help asking herself why her mistress, too, had burdened herself with a Muggle all those years ago.

“Now, my son’s behaviour doesn’t surprise me”, Eileen continued to vent her misgivings; once she got going, it was usually hard for her to find an end, “he’s always done it. Pick up Muggle strays. Who inevitably left him for somebody else once Severus gave them everything he had.” Again, a headshake, and Gilly saw clearly that her mistress meant what she was saying, that it was a true source of worry to her. She saw her chance to steer the conversation into a safer direction.

“Mistress Prince is here now”, she said, trying at cheerfulness, “she will watch over her son.”

“If only he let me!” Eileen scoffed bitterly, rustling the paper. However, Gilly’s words had achieved something, because she got up from the table. “Have you got my tea ready?”

“Five minutes”, Gilly replied with an inward breath of relief. “Gilly will bring it to the mistress while she reads her paper in the sitting room.”

That, too, was an established ritual by now, one that Eileen appeared to like, and it brought a very small smile to thin her lips as she sailed out of the kitchen.

However, walking into the sitting room brought her face to face with a surprise.

“Severus?? – What on earth are you doing here?”

He was sitting at his desk, quill in hand, looking as if he’d been there for hours. However, Eileen quickly spotted the fresh traces of greenish powder around the fireplace.

“Working”, he replied evenly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and indicated a stack of papers.

“Here?”

“Why not? You keep complaining that you don’t see me enough.”

It was enough to make Eileen narrow her eyes suspiciously. “Why today, of all days?”

“Again: why not? It’s a weekend day. No classes. – Or are you having any plans that my presence might be upsetting?”

“Of course not”, Eileen murmured, but she found it hard to keep the distrust out of her voice. “Don’t scratch your quill too loudly, though, will you? I want to read my paper.”

To her surprise, she didn’t get a snappy reply. Instead, Severus ironically inclined his head and promised to ‘use his most delicate scratch’. He sounded almost polite, faintly gentle even.

Eileen sat down on the couch and started to peruse the _Daily Prophet_ , not without casting up a critical eye every now and then to see what her son was doing. Severus, however, sat bent over his papers, hidden behind the black curtain of his hair, obviously immersed, never meeting her gaze. In spite of herself, Eileen was beginning to feel uncomfortable. She sighed gladly when her tea finally arrived; it was perfect, just the way she had taught Gilly to make it, and it disposed her a little kindlier to find her daily ritual.

“Anything interesting in there?” Severus asked a while after Gilly had gone.

“In the _Prophet_? Nah, just the usual. The inevitable update on the satyr crisis, new appointments to the Ministry …”

“Nothing about your friends?”

Eileen looked up, stared. “My _friends_? What do you mean, Severus?”

“The Crowleys. You said that you know them.”

“I never said any such thing!” Eileen protested, but quickly realized that her voice had been too shrill. “I don’t know these people”, she went on in a more controlled tone. “Never have. Certainly they’re not my _friends_.”

“Yeah, I remember now”, Severus replied, sounding conspicuously silky. “At first you seemed to know Madam Crowley, then not.”

“I made a mistake, Severus. Does that never happen to you?”

Their eyes met. There was a glitter in Severus’. However, before long it died and he shrugged. “Of course it does”, he said evenly, and in the next moment his eyes were on his work again.

Something was up.

Eileen shifted on the sofa and pinned her eyes to the _Prophet_ articles. Yet, she found that all of a sudden she couldn’t concentrate anymore. Her son’s presence in the room was too strong and somehow unsettling. Again, she watched him as he was bending over his papers, marking passages and sometimes tsking to himself.

‘Is this really my son?’ she suddenly caught herself asking. ‘My temperamental fidgety Severus?’ The man sitting over there at the desk reminded her more of her own grandfather, a man of quiet authority and with a magical charisma so strong and sinister at the same time it would press you up against the wall. Eileen felt pride, surprise and irritation at equal measures. “Are you feeling fine, sweetheart?” she asked, following a rare motherly instinct, but really just to calm herself.

“Thank you, mother”, he replied without looking up, “I feel very well indeed.”

“All going well at the school?”

“As you will have noticed from your reading, the satyr crisis is far from over, and that concerns Hogwarts, as well. However, we have it under control.”

Eileen smiled a little. “Taught your brats that spell, have you? Well, the situation will toughen them up and that can’t hurt.”

Severus murmured assent and at first it seemed as if he had nothing more to say, when suddenly he looked up. “Are _you_ feeling fine, mother?”

His black eyes scrutinized her and again Eileen couldn’t help thinking about the fear she’d had of her grandfather as a child. She tried hard to shake off the feeling. “I’m old and I’m mostly lonely”, she spat, “of course I’m _not_ fine.”

“Ah”, he said, but no more, and bent over his desk again.

“Thought so”, Eileen hissed.

It made him look up. “Thought what?”

“That you’re not really interested. In how I feel.”

“I am”, he claimed, “however, when I ask you, you always insist on feeling miserable. Hence, there is nothing new for me to learn …”

“You don’t have to be obnoxious, Severus!”

“Just stating the obvious.”

“Is this why you’ve stayed at home? To wind me up?”

“No. – However, I’m getting the feeling here that you’d rather have me out of your way …?”

“Don’t be silly”, she hissed, “and don’t put words into my mouth!”

A very fine smile replied. Then, once more, studious silence.

Eileen soon found that her focus was gone. The words filling the Prophet were beginning to lose their sense in front of her eyes, became meaningless shapes. Instead, she was becoming increasingly aware of an itch at the back of her head. She knew it well, it was the physical manifestation of her inner alert system.

With a last suspicious look at the scribbling figure of her son, she made herself focus on the paper, or at least give a very convincing imitation of it …

 

* * *

 

Of course, Severus Snape’s decision to grade his papers at Spinner’s End – the place he couldn’t even make himself call ‘home’ – and not at Hogwarts was anything but random. Right now, he was closely observing the signs of his mother’s nervousness, even if he didn’t let it on. However, while he was giving himself the appearance of business, he hardly missed any of her movements out of the corners of his eyes.

Elena’s gobstone story had kept him up all night. And not solely the story, but everything that it implied, resulted in, and also how it made him feel. The most surprising thing was that Elena’s belated confession – that she had actually, though briefly, entertained the idea of spying on his mother, and thus by extension on him – should have made him angry, but didn’t. Not because he now suddenly found it excusable if something, anything, was kept from him. He still hated that. And of course, she should have told him right away that there was a hidden story that unwittingly connected him to the Crowleys through an incomplete set of magical gobstones. It might have been important, might still be important.

It was wrong to say that the gobstone story had left him unmoved. In fact, he had felt a thrill when he’d first heard it, the kind of thrill you feel when a curtain is briefly moved to reveal – even if only for the fracture of a second – the secret that lay behind. However, it had left him unmoved where Elena’s betrayal was concerned. Severus couldn’t even bring himself to call it ‘betrayal’. She had kept something from him when she shouldn’t have, but had told him eventually. She had also, in time, aborted any plans of spying on him. He wasn’t angry with her, although ordinarily he should have been.

The truth was – he couldn’t. He didn’t feel the anger, not where she was concerned. And when asking himself why this was, he had easily discovered the simple truth: he trusted her feelings for him. Entirely, and more so than he had known.

That trip into her unconscious. How different things might have been without it. It was hard to imagine now how he would have reacted without that experience – finding out that Elena had been silent about something that might explain the Crowleys’ hate of him and the zeal with which they had worked to bring him in front of the Wizengamot. Very probably, he would have broken off their acquaintance, would have had nothing to do with her anymore, all his suspicions and insecurities confirmed, and he would have been livid with rage and hurt pride. All he could say now was that this wasn’t at all the way he felt right now. He had forgiven her, and would always forgive her because he knew _for a fact_ that she cared about him and was on his side. And although that feeling appeared entirely natural, he was still a little surprised at its calm ease. He saw now how, even if he _had_ known about it earlier, this wouldn’t have changed a thing. He also saw now what had been behind Elena’s enthusiasm to get into the Crowley Academy and do her bit. She had felt that she had something to make up for. The thought brought the touch of a grin to his lips. He knew very well what a good motivator a bad conscience was …

Hence, everything being alright between him and Elena, he had decided to focus on the other components of that gobstone story, one of which appeared to be nobody but his own mother. Of course, he knew what an accomplished gobstones player his mother was, how impossible it was to win against her (all the times he’d tried as a boy, all it had got him was a stinky face). Of course, that didn’t mean that she had anything to do with _these_ gobstones. Originally, in fact, Severus had thought a connection between his mother and Magrathea Crowley completely out of the question; they were of different ages and different backgrounds; the only thing that apparently connected them was a liking for gobstones, a trait they shared with many in the wizarding world. He would have dismissed this possibility, hadn’t he been able to distinctly remember a conversation with his mother a few weeks back when she had – by a slip of the tongue – mentioned that she _might_ know the Crowleys. That memory kept nagging at the back of his mind. He was now constantly catching himself pondering this, how it might be possible, what significance it had.

It brought him back to another questions that he had dropped a while ago: why had his mother come here? Was it really just to support him in these difficult times and to help him with his neck wound? If those had been the reasons, they had exhausted themselves. His hearing was five weeks back by now, his neck looked better than it had in months (entirely to his mother’s credit, he had to give her that). Yet, she was still here, refusing to budge. Severus had stopped arguing about it, but he knew that his mother knew that he _would_ stop eventually, mostly because he had other things on his mind and was too tired to keep up the eternal mother-son feud. And once he’d given up, she’d be free to do what she wanted. Paying secret visits to his late father’s grave, for instance.

A grave. Wooden box, buried six feet under the ground, by now probably eaten by worms, becoming one with the soil. However – and Severus couldn’t help thinking that – perhaps a good hiding place for a gobstone. Tucked away in the deceased’s best Sunday suit, because Severus remembered how Eileen had insisted on putting it on Tobias after his death, how particular she’d been about the arrangements, what care she’d taken about giving him a dignified funeral. Why would she bother so much, and with a man who had for the most time of their shared life abused and mistreated her?

A pattern was emerging, however, it was still far too transparent. Severus still had no way of knowing whether his mother had the missing gobstone that Magrathea was looking for (or rather Finn McVey acting on her behalf). That was still no more than speculation. This might all be conjecture, verging on fantasy. However, there was his tingling spine to consider which told him in no uncertain terms that he was on to something, he just had to give it time to emerge. Then again, giving anything time wasn’t Severus’ specialty who tended to become restless when he sensed a secret in his proximity. Hence his decision to grade his papers at Spinner’s End this morning. His plan was, ultimately, to engage his mother in some kind of innocent conversation which might bring her to divulge one detail or another, specifically why she was so keen on visiting the cemetery lately. He had, perhaps, underestimated how difficult it was to simply _converse_ with this woman, how easily it ended in reproach and self-pity.

So he decided to give it a little more time. While he went through the papers on his desk, he was considering his options, how he might get her to talk. Maybe not now, while she was reading the _Prophet_. It was almost an obsession to her and she didn’t like to be disturbed. On the other hand, this was also the time to catch her off guard. – But how? Right now, he had no idea.

However, at certain points in his life Severus Snape had made the experience that in times of disturbing cluelessness, the unexpected sometimes occurred to help. He hadn’t thought about this and didn’t expect it, and yet, it happened.

Severus hadn’t been able to focus on the sixth-year’s DADA papers for almost fifteen minutes because he was so busy not missing the right moment to grill his mother a little more, when there was a loud knock at the door.

Mother and son looked up, first at each other, then at the sitting-room door.

“Your Muggle girl?” Eileen suggested with a sneer.

Severus shook his head. “She wouldn’t come unannounced”, he murmured and got up.

“Leave it to the house-elf”, Eileen said in a bored voice.

The knock came back.

“Gilly!?” Eileen shouted shrilly, but there was no reply. “Where is that nosy creature when you … ah, yes, I sent her to the cellar …”

“I’ll go”, Severus murmured and went out into the hallway where he found Gilly by the front door, looking very confused.

“What?” Severus addressed her. “Why don’t you open?”

Once Gilly was over the shock of his presence, she started to stutter. “Master, it’s … Gilly cannot open the door … there’s a _Muggle_ out there!” She said it in a voice in which anyone else would have recalled an encounter with a ghost.

Severus cast a brief look out of the small window beside the front door. He saw a man in a formal suit. Posture and hair screamed ‘Muggle in official capacity’. Gilly was right.

“Off you go”, Severus hissed and watched her hop away out of the corner of his eye before he answered the door.

The man standing on its step was about his age, and clearly one of these modern types that constantly went to gyms to keep – as they called it these days – ‘in shape’. His shoulders were wide, although the hair was beginning to thin out and black-rimmed spectacles attested bad eyesight. He had a very professional face on and if he found anything peculiar about the man who opened the door to him, he knew better than to let on.

“Mr Snape?” he asked politely and with the beginnings of a bow. “Mr …”, he briefly checked what looked like a file in his hand, “… _Severus_ Snape?”

Severus inclined his head in assent.

A kind, yet studied smile appeared on the other man’s face. “My name is Alan Townsend, I am employed with the Cokeworth city administration and I am very sorry having to bother you on a Saturday, and with bad news, too.” The long face duly became sad; yet again, the expression looked studied, as if Townsend had learned how to switch emotion on and off whenever appropriate.

“What do you want?” Snape asked. The old awkwardness when talking to Muggles was back, but not as badly as it had been before. Being with Elena had subtly done something to his attitude towards Muggles, made him softer perhaps; in any case, he tried not to glower at Townsend too much. “Is anything the matter?”

The put-on sad face again. “I’m afraid it is”, Townsend replied and made a little movement, suggesting with it that Snape might let him into the house.

“I’m sorry”, Severus murmured, “we’re … renovating. Otherwise I’d …”

“I completely understand, Mr Snape”, Townsend assured him, exuding glib professionalism. “I do not wish to put you out. However, there has been an incident and regulations dictate that you must be informed immediately.”

“An incident?” Severus stared at the man in confusion, but there was an itch at the back of his mind, like a premonition. “What’s happened?”

Townsend sighed, his high forehead creased with studied worry. “You see, Mr Snape, it is my function as an employee of the city administration to concern myself with the care and maintenance of public places, specifically cemeteries, such as the one where …” his eyes flickered briefly towards the file in his hand, “… a Mr Tobias Snape is buried, who, I believe, is your late father?”

Snape nodded. The itch became stronger. “Yes. He’s been buried there for …”

“… eight years”, Townsend finished, showing that he’d done his homework, “I have the records here. – Mr Snape, what I have to tell you now isn’t easy, and I cannot tell you enough how sorry the cemetery administration is about this, but …”, the man took a deep breath, “… I’m afraid I have to report a bad case of vandalism.”

“Vandalism”, Severus repeated, but the word didn’t really hit home.

“Yes, sir. I realize how upsetting this must be. These things happen sometimes, especially in an area … like this.” Townsend shrugged, indicating that it wasn’t his habit to evaluate. “With regard to your father’s grave, it is quite a bad case. Plus, we have no idea as of yet who the perpetrators are. From the way your father’s grave looks, it must have been more than one person, and it obviously happened last night. – Please be assured that right now we are doing everything to restore the grave, so you don’t have to see …”

“Wait.” Severus put up his hand. “Are you telling me that my father’s grave has been upset??” There was only one word in his mind: gobstone.

“Yes, sir.” Studied sadness. “We have, of course, reported this to the police. Yet, you’re of course free to file a report of your own. I must tell you, however, that we had such incidents before and the culprits, if they can be found at all, are usually teenagers who vent their anger in this way, or occultists who get a thrill out of …”

Again, Severus cut him short with a wave of his hand. “How bad is it?”

“Bad, sir. Quite bad. – I am so sorry. You see, we do have someone at the cemetery who will do his rounds at nights, seeing that all is in order and that no one’s loitering around at night, but what with the cuts in budget for the upkeep of public places, I’m afraid we cannot afford much more than one person to do this, and they can’t keep their eyes on everything all the time …”

“I understand”, Severus murmured. In fact, he didn’t. Thoughts were racing through his mind. Specifically, he was thinking of his mother. How was he to tell her this?

“I’m glad you do, sir”, Townsend said with a smile that looked almost genuine. “Yet, I cannot tell you enough how …”

“What exactly has been done?” Severus interrupted him. “To my father’s grave.”

“Well”, Alan Townsend squirmed, “the gravestone’s been toppled over, the flowerbed was completely destroyed in an effort to dig out the coffin …”

“Are his bones still there?”

Townsend was taken aback by this question and blanched a little. “They are, sir, they are indeed. However, the coffin’s been opened, or what was left of it anyway, so I’m afraid they’re quite … _scattered_ … but of course, we _are_ going to transfer your father’s bones into a new coffin and re-bury him, all this falls within the liability of the cemetery administration, so you can rest assured …”

“It’s alright.” Once more, Snape’s words cut Townsend short, eliciting a curious stare from the latter. Of course, Severus hadn’t meant that it was alright, only that he had heard enough.

“Would you like to have a look, sir?” Townsend asked carefully.

“I will”, Snape replied, a growl in his voice, “but not now. First, I have to tell my mother about this.”

A pointed and not entirely sincere look of despair appeared on the cemetery man’s face. “These are going to be upsetting news for her, I daresay.”

“Yes”, Severus hissed, but the truth was that he had no idea at all on how Eileen might react.

“Do you wish me to talk to her? I have been trained to … _soften_ blows like that.”

“I bet you have”, Snape said ironically, “but no. This is a family matter.” He gave a cough. “Thank you for coming by and informing me.”

“It was the least I could do”, Townsend said glibly, “and again, Mr Snape, on behalf of the cemetery administration, please accept my sincerest …”

“I understand. You’ve done your bit.” And with that, Severus shut the front door in the man’s face. It didn’t occur to him that this was impolite. In his mind, he had been most civil to this Muggle man, far more civil than he usually was, indeed from his point of view he was becoming good at this, although he forgot Townsend the moment the guy was out of his field of vision.

Instead, he leant against the inside of his front door, breathed. Became aware of a couple of huge eyes watching from a gap in the kitchen door, and he glowered at them whereupon the watching eyes vanished in a blink. Only after several deep breaths did Severus start to move and walk into the sitting room. Eileen was perched on the edge of the couch and her eyes when she looked at him were unusually large.

“Who was that?”

Snape stared back at her. He had no idea how to say what he had to say. He had no idea what he would set off. Thoughts kept racing through his mind. There he’d had the idea that the missing gobstone from Magrathea Crowley’s set might be buried in his father’s grave, and next thing said grave was being upset. All coinciding with his mother’s secret visits to this place, and McVey’s appearance. The conclusion was obvious: McVey hadn’t got what he wanted, so he’d taken more brutal measures. And if the red gobstone had really been buried in Tobias Snape’s grave, it was almost certainly gone by now.

“Mother, I don’t know how to tell you this …”

A twitch, not unlike his own, went through Eileen’s thin frame. “Don’t be squeamish and spit it out, Severus! How bad can it possibly be?!”

She looked a little mutinous. Either, she had no idea at all, or she was over-acting, or he was imagining the whole story behind the gobstones.

Again, Severus took a deep breath and then he told her, as unemotionally as he could, merely stating the facts. Eileen listened, and while she did so her brows climbed ever higher. Inside, Severus braced himself for the inevitable wail and string of swear words that he thought must be coming up any minute now.

However, after he had ended, his mother stared thoughtfully into nothingness, as if she saw something there and found it no more than faintly peculiar.

“Mother?”

“Yes, Severus?”

“Did you hear what I just told you?”

“Of course I did.”

Again, the stare into nothingness. Then, slowly, Eileen drew up her shoulders and let them fall with a deep sigh. “You know, Severus, sometimes I have no idea what this world is coming to.”

In any other situation, Severus would have pointed out the commonplace. Now he thought it wiser to be gentle. “What do you mean?”

“Vandalism”, Eileen replied. “I hear Muggles do it all the time now. At bus stations, their soccer games, and now graveyards, too! It appears to be quite the fashion.”

“Do you wish to report this to the Muggle police?” Severus suggested, biting down on the comment that wizards, too, knew about vandalism.

However, Eileen scoffed. “What good will _that_ do?” She shook her head. “No, just let those cemetery people re-bury him and that will be that.”

She sighed, got up, found her knitting and sat down on the couch again with it. Severus watched her closely.

“Aren’t you upset?”

“Why should I?” she asked evenly, looking up at him innocently.

Severus couldn’t contain himself any longer. “You’ve been visiting his grave for the past weeks! I know this, even if you won’t admit it. And now you’re acting as if his grave being vandalized doesn’t touch you at all?”

“It doesn’t”, Eileen declared, looking at him pointedly. “Or only in so far as it once again shows the depravity of Muggles. Digging up a grave, disturbing the dead! This is not going to get any better, it’s going to get worse!”

“Is this all you have to say??” He couldn’t believe it.

“Severus”, his mother said with a sigh, as if speaking to a thick-headed child, “it is only a grave. A place where your father’s bones are kept, because we sure as hell don’t want to have them in the house, do we?”

“Grandma kept _her_ father’s bones in the house”, Severus reminded her, suddenly remembering this – in his wizard mind – rather amusing episode from his childhood.

“Because of the kind of man he was”, Eileen set him right, a derisive tone in her voice, “Tobias’ bones wouldn’t qualify for such an honour.”

“I see”, said Severus, although he didn’t see at all. Yet, the evidence was in front of him: his mother frowned a little, but otherwise she seemed … well, not exactly serene, but as unperturbed as ever. “Do you have any idea why someone might upset father’s grave?”

“Of course not. I don’t know why Muggles do what they do. _You’re_ the expert on that!” She let out another scoff and took up her knitting.

Severus watched her, the calm hands, the focus on her face as she magically set the needles in motion. Very clearly, she was not upset. He didn’t even think that she feigned her calm; it appeared completely genuine.

And yet … what with the itch at the back of his mind?

“If you want to”, he tried again, and gently, “we could go there later.”

She looked up in confusion. “Go where?”

“The grave. Inspect the damage.”

“Inspect a heap of earth and bones?” She gave him a curious look, let her shoulders drop and said almost kindly, “If this is important to you, my raven, we can very well do that.” In the next moment, her eyes were back on the knitting.

He couldn’t believe it. Now she was sounding as if she was indulging him, as if the message of the upset grave affected him much more than her! Once again, she was impossible to figure out.

Also, he had a feeling that he wouldn’t get anything more out of Eileen. And maybe it was better like this. He had a lot to do still, grade his papers for instance. Then there was that Christmas party at the Crowley academy to consider that would take place very soon and for which he still had to think up some safety nets to ensure that Elena would make it out of there without fail or injury. In fact, he already had an idea which he liked better and better the more he thought about it. If truth be told, he didn’t really have time for this peculiar incident of supposed ‘Muggle vandalism’, although he was pretty sure that this wasn’t at all what this occurrence had really been about.

So, after a last long look at Eileen, he turned away and settled down at his desk again, taking up the quill and going back to the nonsense his sixth-year DADA students kept spilling out on parchment. He soon got engrossed by it. And so he completely missed the very fine and knowing smile his mother was bestowing on her knitting …

 

 


	31. Chapter 31

**Punch and Polyjuice**

 

The day of the Christmas party at the Crowley Academy arrived sooner than Elena Horwath would have wanted it to. As determined as she had been at first to go through with it, she became increasingly anxious as the event came closer and, what was more, felt something that resembled ill foreboding. Taking herself through the steps every night before she went to sleep didn’t exactly help because she couldn’t possibly foresee those steps. Grilling Stephen Periwinkle on the things he wanted to show her on the occasion didn’t either, first of all because he was extremely monosyllabic about it, and – more importantly – she didn’t want to give anyone at the Academy the idea that she and he were planning anything and so they kept apart during the time leading up to the party, which was clearly much easier for Stephen than for her. (Elena still didn’t know what exactly he was doing at the academy, how his days were structured; the only thing he had ever let on was that he was “made to take special lessons”.) And since with Severus, too, she had a kind of low-contact policy in order to keep up appearances and couldn’t let Cassie in on too much, she was left to her own devices when it came to dealing with her nervousness.

There was an added complication: she had started having vivid dreams again. The trouble was that she had too little experience with premonitions and hence could not tell whether they meant anything. Their cause might be her overall nervous state and no more, and the dreams where too vague to allow any interpretation. At least twice, a woman had appeared in them and Elena was almost sure that this was none other than her great-great-grandmother Ada. She looked exactly as Severus had described her: small, a little dumpy, but with an arresting face and the same arched eyebrows that Elena had. The dreams about her ancestor, however, had no real content; all ‘Ada’ ever did was stare at Elena in a manner that the latter interpreted as warningly. She was very much aware that this might be no more than projection, caused by her own inner state. It was also entirely possible that the only reason she dreamt about this woman was Severus’ account of his trip into her subconscious and that she had been alerted to Ada’s existence by it. And of course, Ada’s story was a harrowing one that was on Elena’s mind a great deal. In recent days, she had often asked her aunt Anna about it. Sure enough the old woman had confirmed the story of her own grandmother who she had never met and who had one day – when the family had still lived in Slovenia before the first World War – gone out into the fields to never come back. So this had really happened, which was both horrible and interesting to know. However, it certainly didn’t necessarily mean that Ada had now come to her great-great-granddaughter’s dreams to warn her.

Dreams were a fickle thing, especially in Elena’s case. They _might_ mean something; then again, they might not. This was the reason why Elena had neglected telling Severus about them – although he had been adamant that she do so in case – so as not to worry him. After all, she was still determined to go through with her plans at the Academy, warning or not. One of the reasons was that she had a bad conscience towards Severus because she hadn’t told him about McVey wanting her to spy on his mother and thus, by extension, on him. Part of her still couldn’t believe how coolly he had reacted to her confession and she couldn’t figure out why it hadn’t angered him much more. The only explanation she could come up with was that he had more worrying things on his mind; and this strengthened her determination not to tell him about the dreams and suffer her nervousness in silence.

The days and hours flew by mercilessly, as they always do when you don’t want a specific point in time to arrive.

And then, one evening, she found herself waiting in Diagon Alley once more, dressed to the nines, with Cassie Cleary at her side, waiting for another Hippogriff carriage. She was a particularly bad conversationalist during the ride with her heart pounding hard in her ribcage. Luckily, Cassie took over the most part of the conversation with their co-riders: guests to the Academy for this evening, dressed in their best clothes and looking all the more sinister by it as they were wizarding folks. Elena was able to observe an all too well-known phenomenon: while everybody on the carriage was quite prepared to talk to Cassie – who’d been a witch all her life, entirely behaved like one and came from a family that everybody had at least heard of – people appeared to smell that the exact opposite was true for Elena. She got doubtful and sometimes downright dirty looks which made her cuddle up in her corner before a clandestine kick in the shin administered by Cassie called her to order.

“You’ve _got_ to mingle a little”, her charming friend hissed to Elena as they got off the carriage, “or everyone will remember you as the grumpy Muggle. You don’t want to draw any attention to yourself, do you?”

Elena’s only reply was a heartfelt sigh. At that point, she was feeling sick to her stomach with worry. However, Cassie linked her arm into hers and dragged her along.

The carriage had landed on a plot of grass hidden by woods all around. The smell of the sea lay in the air, suggesting that they were indeed close to Abrasax Manor and Abrasax House. It was probably the same spot where Elena and Cassie had landed on the occasion of their first visit, when McVey had invited them _en lieu_ of Magrathea Crowley.

This time, however, house-elves holding torches were awaiting the guests, lining an imaginary path on either side that didn’t allow any of the guests to stray. There were also wizards in formal clothes overseeing the procedure and leading the new arrivals towards the spot where the festivities were about to take place. The purpose soon became obvious: even before Abrasax House – and thus the Crowley Academy – came into view, guests were required to walk through a high gilded arch positioned on the way. House-elves – and hooded wizards, too – were crowding around it to make sure that literally everybody passed under it.

“Ah!” murmured Cassie as she saw it. “I was wondering how they were going to pull off the Obliviating part …”

Elena looked at her blankly for a moment. She had taken the finely adorned arch for some kind of extravagant Christmas decoration. “Oh, you mean …”

“Yeah”, Cassie hissed back, “I’m pretty sure. Walk under it and forget how you came here. They’ll probably make us pass when we leave, too.” She looked at her friend critically. “Won’t work on you, I guess …”

“No need. I can’t talk about it anyway.”

Cassie shook her head unnoticeably. “Dark magic going on here. The air’s thick with it. – Those guys don’t seem to notice, though …” She jerked her small chin at the other guests.

“I’d say they don’t care”, Elena grumbled quietly, “the whole carriage was stinking of pure-blood …”

“Careful!” Cassie warned her with a nudge in the side. “I’m pretty pure-blood, too!”

“Yeah, but you don’t stink. In fact, you smell very nicely tonight.”

“Thank you, sweetie!” Cassie gave Elena one of her trademark big grins which made the latter feel a tad better as they walked under the arch. At least, she wasn’t alone …

 

* * *

 

As soon as they stood in the large entrance hall of the Crowley Academy, Elena couldn’t help staring and feeling distinctly pleased. The Christmas decoration was as lavish as anyone could wish for. Red candles were floating in the air, the smell of pine needles and roasted apples filled the room and suddenly she felt as ‘christmassy’ as she had last felt as a child, a strange sense of happy excitement and anticipation in her heart. House-elves were handing out glasses of punch, and since the hall was already filled with a large number of guests, merry chatter echoed from the high walls.

“That’s nice!” she cried in spite of herself, because to her the Crowley Academy was really a sinister place, one that caused her discomfort. This ill feeling, however, was swept away the moment she entered.

“Where the hell are we??” Cassie sounded confused. When Elena looked at her friend, she noticed a drowsy look on the other girl’s face.

“Crowley Academy. Christmas Party”, she informed her curtly.

“Oh … already? How did we …”

“We walked under the arch, remember? The carriage ride?”

“Oh, yeah …” However, Cassie didn’t seem sure at all. The Obliviation arch had obviously worked on her, not so much on Elena who remembered the ride very well, but was under quite a different curse.

“Don’t think about it or you’ll get a headache”, she counselled her friend and snatched a glass of punch from one of the trays the house-elves carried back and forth; she pressed it into Cassie’s hand. “Just enjoy the music.”

There was a little orchestra playing sentimental Christmas songs. A few couples had already started swaying. It appeared that the arch had not only done some obliviating, but relaxing, too.

“It’s nice here”, Cassie said dreamily, “thanks for bringing me. You’re truly a splendid friend …”

“Remember what we agreed on?” Elena hissed to her under her breath.

“Um …?”

“Switch dress colour? Change hair-do?”

“Ah, yes, there was something …” But still Cassie appeared confused.

Elena gulped. “Relax”, she said as brightly as she could. “It’ll come back.”

Elena realized that she had to be the strong one now and that she couldn’t afford her nervousness anymore. So she determinedly took her friend by the arm and led her across the hall in order to mingle with the other guests, following the advice Cassie had given to her when she had still been of sound mind. Elena knew a few faces, students and teachers alike, and murmured polite Hellos, although what she got back were mostly raised eyebrows. However, there were already a few pink cheeks – the punch was probably strong – so there was hope that the crowd would loosen up a bit as the evening took its course.

As she wandered around with Cassie in tow, it became obvious to her that quite a large number of outsiders had been invited. A few staff members clearly had the job of showing guests around, explaining, presenting. Most eyes that took in the festive surroundings spoke of awe, but a few were not so easily misled and kept a critical expression. Elena spotted a garishly dressed woman with spectacles and a pad in her hand; she also had a quill that did all the writing by magic. Elena had heard enough about Rita Skeeter from Hermione to guess at the woman’s identity. A lot of the other faces she had never seen before, but luckily Cassie slowly regained her composure and it turned out that her long-term memory hadn’t been affected by the arch at all. She was able to tell Elena exactly who most of the people who had been invited to this event were. In fact, not a small number of Ministry officials had been asked to come as well, a fact that brought a frown to Elena’s forehead.

The only one of said officials that she knew personally was Ansgard Periwinkle who duly ignored her, and his son Waldemar who waved at her cautiously behind his father’s back. Not a trace of Stephen, though. However, on one of the lower steps leading up to a gallery sat Finn McVey. As soon as he saw Elena, he got up casually and gave a mocking bow.

“ _He_ looks familiar …”, Cassie murmured, suddenly fuzzy again. Clearly, the memory of McVey was to closely connected to this place for her and thus affected by the obliviating arch. Elena quickly explained to Cassie, but then dragged her away, ensuring her that McVey was “completely unimportant” – the last thing she wanted was having to talk to him – only to run slap-bang into Magrathea Crowley. The lady of the house looked as ravishing as her entrance hall and was almost as heavily decorated, with her black curls piled high on the top of her head and beads of pearl weaved into it. Her magnificent blue gown with the small waist brought out the colour of her eyes, and although Elena and Cassie had taken due care with their appearances it was easy to feel dowdy beside their hostess; she really _was_ a breath-taking beauty. Magrathea held on tight to the arm of her husband who looked particularly dignified in his festive dress robes and immaculately trimmed white beard.

“Miss Horwath”, piped the Lady of the Manor, “so glad you could make it and how wonderful of you to bring your charming friend! – How are you tonight, Miss Cleary?”

“Your arch is quite a knock-out”, replied Cassie without hesitation and a nasty undercurrent in her voice that made Elena jump. “It’s making me nauseous.”

However, Magrathea Crowley smiled it away. “Don’t worry, that’ll wear off. You see, my dear, one can’t take enough care these days. Not everyone in the wizarding world is all too well disposed towards our academy and we consider this evening as an opportunity of changing people’s prejudices. – Have you met my husband?”

And she quickly went on to introduce the smooth wizard at her side. Elena had never really spoken to Aeneas Crowley before and wasn’t prepared for his charisma. It wasn’t enough, however, to make her forget that this man had been the driving force behind bringing Severus Snape before the Wizengamot. At the same time, she clearly saw that what Remus Lupin had told her about Crowley – that he was able to draw in people and recruit them for his cause – was very probably true. She felt almost mollified by him, his smoothness and politeness.

“What a charming couple of ladies you both are”, he said while the corners of his eyes crinkled, “and I have heard a lot about you, Miss Horwath. Your teachers are full of praise, they say you are a very intuitive witch and prepared to work hard.”

“Really?” Elena couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm out of her voice. Most of the time, she felt ostracized by her pure-blood teachers because of her origins and it cost her a great deal of her energy to ignore the everyday dirty looks and snide remarks.

“Of course!” Crowley assured her. “They may not show it, mind you. No one wants to compliment a student too much who has a lot still to learn. But we are all very glad that you have decided to further your education in our establishment and not … through other channels. – Plus, I am personally very grateful to you that you’ve been taking such an interest in our unfortunate Stephen.”

The condescending remark irked Elena. “I wouldn’t call it ‘such an interest’”, she said, grumbling a bit, “I’m just friendly in the way my parents taught me to. Most people aren’t.” By this, of course, she was implying that the upbringing of most wizarding folks left a lot to be desired. It caused Magrathea’s smile to freeze a little. Aeneas, however, remained unfazed.

“I have a lot of respect for the Periwinkle family”, he explained glibly, “and I consider it a privilege that they allow us to take care of Stephen. He is – in his own peculiar way – quite a remarkable wizard. And if you are able to make him feel at home here, I have a lot to thank you for. He doesn’t fit in easily.”

Elena felt an itch to say something nasty. However, it was in this moment that she spotted Stephen Periwinkle. He stood on top of the gallery, leaning over the banister, half-hidden by the shadows and looking down on the crowd which, no doubt, scared him. A lock of hair fell into his handsome face and he watched Elena and her partners in conversation with a very earnest stare. Suddenly she had the feeling that he had heard every word of what had been spoken. Or maybe a rare kind of intuition told him. It might just as well be experience – no doubt he knew very well what people usually said about him. Suddenly, he winked almost imperceptibly, there was the shadow of a grin, and in the next moment he drew back into the shadows.

“By the way, Miss Horwath”, Magrathea Crowley spoke up again with her sweetest smile, “I have a surprise for you tonight that I think you might like.”

“Do you?” Elena raised her eyebrow with no idea what the lady was on about.

“Just turn around”, Magrathea said with a Father-Christmas face.

Elena and Cassie turned simultaneously.

Through the large front door, looking stately and formal, Narcissa and Draco Malfoy were just sailing in. They looked like a picture of pure-blood formality in their expensive dress robes and their noses held high, Draco a younger and male copy of his mother. Narcissa bestowed a naturally condescending smile on the crowd – she could be sure that she was well known in these circles – while Draco at her side walked very stiffly.

‘Oh no’, Elena groaned inwardly, ‘now I have to play doting girlfriend on top of everything?’ Then she remembered that she should really be glad. No doubt Draco and Narcissa were here because Severus had asked them to do their utmost to get in – with a generous donation to the academy, for instance – and support Elena by their presence at least.

“Look there, Elena, your favourite man!” It was Cassie who had said that, and it sounded almost sincere, maybe a tad too sickly sweet.

Elena forced herself to beam although it made the muscles around her mouth hurt. “He didn’t tell me a thing!” she cried.

“All the more surprise!” Magrathea chirped.

Draco and Narcissa came right over, greeting host and hostess.

“Madam Malfoy, what a pleasure to have you here and finally make your acquaintance”, Aeneas Crowley droned out cordially and Magrathea followed suit. “My wife has of course informed me about your lovely owls and your generosity …”

Which confirmed to Elena that indeed not a small amount of galleons had changed hands in order to get Narcissa and Draco into the party.

“Please, don’t mention it”, purred Narcissa, “I am only too happy to support such a noble wizarding pursuit, seeing that standards in education are rapidly declining …”

“I am so glad that you should have noticed …”, replied Magrathea in much the same purr, but Narcissa went on quickly.

“… also, you’re taking good care of this young lady here who has a very special place in my heart.” With this, Narcissa went up to Elena and gave her a fleeting kiss on the cheek. “Hello, my dear, how are you?”

“How are you, Madam Malfoy”, Elena whispered, suddenly shy.”

“’Narcissa’, please. – Haven’t we agreed on that?”

Out of the corners of her eyes, Elena noticed how this friendly exchange left quite an impression the Crowleys. Cassie, too, looked surprised and Elena went on to introduce her friend to Narcissa. In the meantime, Draco was introduced to the Crowleys and again, his bow was surprisingly stiff as if he felt like a stranger in his own clothes. Then it was Draco’s turn to greet Elena. He came up to her, gently took her hand and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “You look very lovely tonight”, he said quietly. His voice sounded peculiar, hoarse, and stirred something inside of Elena. She looked up at him, confused. There was something strange about him. She couldn’t put her finger to it. The pointed face, the white-blond hair falling dashingly across his face – all this was as always. Then she saw it. His eyes looked different, his pupils diluted somehow.

“Are you alright, Draco?” she asked, playing her part and kissing him back while she pressed his hand.

“I’m fine”, he replied curtly.

“Come here to watch my back, have you?” As she was still standing very close to him, she might as well ask, but took care that no one else heard.

“How could I not?” he said and again sounded raspy.

“What’s up with your voice?” Elena drew back a little, took him in.

Draco was flustered. “Just caught a little cold”, he said and cleared his throat, “but now that I see you, I’m starting to feel much better already.”

Elena froze a little. Something was odd about those words, as well. True, he was only _playing_ at boyfriend, but she had expected him to be a much better actor. Maybe he had started to feel uncomfortable with this role? Then again, he might really be coming down with the flu because his eyes looked feverish, strangely intense. His hand when he searched hers – groping a little clumsily – were ice-cold.

“I missed you”, he said so that the others could hear, and while Elena thought that he was piling it on now, everyone else – except for Cassie – looked quite touched.

Narcissa gave a peal of laughter and said “Get off it, you lovebirds!” She nudged her son in the side, then turned to the Crowleys. “It’s unbelievable, but the moment those two are together, I’m starting to feel left out!”

“Young love”, Aeneas Crowley said good-naturedly, “nothing better in the world.”

“Indeed”, said Magrathea, but there was a bitterness around her mouth.

Cassie Clearly had mostly just watched the whole introduction scene. She appeared particularly interested in Draco whom she observed very closely. Eventually, she walked up to him and extended her hand. “Hi Romeo.”

Draco smiled crookedly. “Hi Cassie. Good to see you again.” And very awkwardly, he kissed her on both cheeks.

Elena saw Cassie’s stare as she let the embrace happen to her. Of course, Cassie knew who Draco Malfoy was - everyone in the wizarding world did – but they had never been introduced, not in Elena’s presence anyway. Maybe Draco thought that he wouldn’t come over as a very attentive lover if he didn’t know his chosen one’s best friend. Yet again, Elena would have expected him to take this hurdle in a much smoother way.

As the conversation started anew and bore on, Cassie took Elena by the arm and dragged her aside a little. “What’s up with Draco?” she hissed to her.

“I don’t know”, she whispered back, “he says he’s coming down with the flu or something …”

“Is he taking drugs??” Obviously, the flu wasn’t an adequate explanation to Cassie.

“What makes you think that?”

“Have you seen his eyes? – Kieran told me all about your Muggle drugs, and that they do funny things to eyes, some make them red, some make pin-head pupils and this …”

“He’s not taking drugs!” Hopefully not, Elena thought. On an occasion like this, it would be stupidity. Then again, Draco had recently taken to experimenting with Muggle ways …

Cassie made a very distrustful face before she turned back to the conversation with a shrug.

“I just _have to_ ask you this, Madam Malfoy”, Magrathea Crowley was just saying, “did you have anything to do with Miss Horwath’s decision to enrol at our school?”

Narcissa’s acting qualities were far more considerable as her son’s. She modestly cast down her beautiful eyes and said, “I _may_ have had something to do with it.”

“Well, we’re glad you did, because she is quite an asset to us.”

“I was surely hoping it!” Narcissa ensured her brightly. “I have to admit, I was doubtful at first when Draco brought a Muggle-born to our house. But, you know, these days you have to open up, it’s a new world …”

“Quite, quite”, murmured Aeneas Crowley.

“… and Draco said, ‘Wait till you see her, mother, with a little bit of polishing she’ll be quite a witch! – He saw it right away, didn’t you, darling?”

Draco coughed. “Yes mother”, he said curtly.

“So you did your best to provide for the polishing”, Magrathea continued the story.

“Well, obviously Hogwarts wouldn’t have been the right choice, due to Elena’s age. So I was happy when the brochures of your very fine establishment fell into my hands … just as if fate had placed them there!”

“Of course, Miss Horwath already knew about the Academy at that point”, said Madam Crowley and there was a slight chill in her voice, “I had proposed it to her on an earlier occasion. When her education was still firmly in the hands of Severus Snape …”

“Oh, yes. Severus.” Narcissa looked dreamily up into the arches. “He used to be a good friend of my husband’s …”

“Not any longer?” Aeneas Crowley asked with a raised white brow.

“No. I’m afraid our family has quite severed ties with Severus … haven’t we, darling?”

Draco jumped a little, then snarled “Bloody traitor!” before taking up his peculiarly stiff posture again.

“Well, let’s not get into it to much. It’s quite a sore spot, especially with my husband …”

“I completely understand, Madam Malfoy.”

“We all went through difficult times, Madam Malfoy …”

Elena couldn’t take it any longer. Here they all were, talking about her and her education as if she wasn’t standing close by, and once more she had to listen to Severus being called a blood traitor. And even though she knew that Draco was just acting, her feeling was once more that he was exaggerating and she made up her mind to scold him for it later.

Her restless eyes scanned the hall, looking for a diversion. Just then, Elena saw Ansgard Periwinkle standing at the foot of the stairs leading up to the gallery. He made a beckoning gesture which increasingly became demanding. As nothing happened, the old man started to get angry.

“Stephen! Come down here this very minute! I won’t endure your shenanigans for one more second!”

By old Periwinkle’s heel stood Waldemar, as usual a little sweaty, trying to look as sinister as his old man, but merely managing to look ridiculous.

After a couple of seconds, the tall gangly figure of Stephen Periwinkle came slouching down from the gallery. He greeted his relatives with a very dark look (which actually wasn’t too unlike his father’s, but had a very different motivation).

Elena caught Cassie by her wrist. “Come!” she hissed and drew her to the stairs.

“Hi Stephen, how are you?” she sang out happily as the young man came down, then she turned to his foreboding-looking father. “Hello Mr Periwinkle, good to see you again.”

Ansgard Periwinkle surveyed her from head to toe. “Miss Horwath”, he grumbled stiffly.

“Hello, Miss Horwath!” This rather enthusiastically from Waldemar. It wasn’t the first time that Elena had the feeling that the less interesting Periwinkle son had the hots for her. Quickly, she pushed Cassie in front and introduced her, hoping that her acquaintance with a witch from a more-or-less pure-blood family would dispose Ansgard Periwinkle more kindly towards her. Also, this gave her ample opportunity to gravitate towards Stephen. “Hi you. Everything fine?”

“Nothing’s ever fine”, Stephen said unemotionally, “it’s a _conditio humana_.”

“You’re probably right”, Elena said, biting down on a laugh.

“Probability has nothing to do with it. It is a fact that can be observed, any minute, any second.”

“Stephen, be polite!” Waldemar said, puffing himself up.

“And you, be quiet!” Ansgard Periwinkle growled at Waldemar.

Not all was well in the Periwinkle family, that much was obvious. Ansgard appeared particularly strained, but there was no way of telling whether this was merely caused by Stephen’s behaviour.

“Stephen, this is Cassie Cleary, my friend”, Elena said in as lively a way as she could.

Stephen gave Cassie no more than a fleeting look. He was shy with strangers, but Cassie was kind. “Hello Stephen. Nice to meet you at last.”

Stephen’s eyes flickered over her again. “Cassandra Cora Cleary. Born 12th of March 1973 in Dublin, County …”

“ _Stephen_!” roared old Periwinkle. “Not _that_ again!”

“You must excuse my brother”, Waldemar butted in importantly, “his favourite pastime is learning the wizards’ birth register by heart. He’d also learn the Muggle telephone book if we let him …”

“Whoa, you must have quite a memory!” Cassie said kindly, but Stephen stared down at the tips of his shoes, looking sullen.

“Mr Periwinkle”, Elena said brightly to the old man, “won’t you join our group over there with the Crowleys and the Malfoys? We were just having _such_ a nice conversation.”

She wanted to observe the old man’s behaviour in close proximity to the Crowleys, hoping it would give her clues with regard to their relationship; plus, it would allow her to stay close to Stephen. She was surprised to see old Periwinkle squirm and then force a smile.

“Well, of course. How very kind of you, Miss Horwath.”

Elena led the way back to the group, wondering about Ansgard’s stricken face. Narcissa was still involved in an animated conversation with Aeneas and Magrathea; Draco, however, had mysteriously vanished.

“Ansgard!” cried Aeneas Crowley as he saw old Periwinkle coming over with his sons and the girls. “Here you are. I was getting the feeling that you were evading me!”

“’Course not”, snarled Periwinkle, “I was here all the time. Getting bad eyesight with age, Aeneas?”

Crowley grinned, Periwinkle glowered. Elena felt what seemed like a cold draught between the two men and she noted it with interest. Someone had given her the impression that these two were friends; now she sensed that this wasn’t the case at all. She stored all this away for further reference and in the meantime noticed that she wasn’t quite as nervous as she had been anymore as she was busy with observing.

Narcissa Malfoy greeted Ansgard Periwinkle kindly; she was socialite enough to always know what to say. It didn’t soften the old man’s stiffness, though. To him, clearly, Narcissa was no more than the wife of a Death Eater and he was no more polite to her than was absolutely necessary. Waldemar Periwinkle, however, bowed and issued smooth words, behaving like a regular slime ball. Stephen just hovered on the periphery, his eyes on the floating candles as if they held a particular interest.

The polite conversation between Aeneas and Magrathea Crowley, the hosts, and the very well-known Ministry official Periwinkle, spiked by the fascinating presence of Narcissa Malfoy soon drew a crowd and the group became the centre of attention. Soon, everyone was talking to everybody else, there were merry laughs – not shared by Ansgard, but all the more by Waldemar – and a lot of chatter. Elena observed all this and almost jumped when Cassiegrabbed her wrist this time.

“I know what’s up with Draco!” she hissed into Elena’s ear. “He’s _juiced_!”

“What?!”

“He’s over there behind the pillar! And he has a flask …”

“No!”

“Look for yourself if you don’t believe me!”

It was easy for Elena to extract herself from the crowd; nobody was paying her much attention, anyway, and if they did, they surveyed her cherry-red gown (an effect she was going for, anyway, and which would come in handy later on). She went to the pillar that Cassie had indicated and was just in time to see Draco put a flat bottle of something into the breast pocket of his waistcoat.

“What are you doing??” she addressed him. If he had come here to help and support her, she needed him sober. Also, she found this new habit quite peculiar and was a little worried by it. She remembered his diluted pupils and feared that the contents of the flask was something more dangerous than alcohol.

However, when Draco looked up at her in shock, obviously caught, his eyes were the usual grey, not a trace of diluted pupils. “Nothing”, he slurred. Slurring, of course, wasn’t good at all.

“Nothing!” Elena scoffed. “Don’t tell me it’s nothing, _sweetheart_!”

The sarcastic comment brought a small smile to Draco’s face.

“You know, I’m not stupid!” Elena went on, slowly working herself into a state. “I lived as a Muggle for most of my life and I know about drugs!”

“I know, I know …” Draco said mysteriously and his smile deepened.

“You may find it cool to experiment with Muggle ways, but this is going too far! Whatever it is that you’re taking, it’s changing you, and I don’t need that, not in this situation, I need you sober and I’m sure the Professor would be humping mad if he knew …”

“You know, Elena”, Draco interrupted her viciously, “you may know about Muggle drugs, but it’s really a pity you don’t have a first idea about potions!”

Elena stared. Draco’s voice hadn’t been hoarse at all this time. Nor had it been Draco’s. In fact, she knew this voice very well. Deep, silky, beautiful …

“ _Sev_ …?!”

He shushed her and looked around to make sure that nobody was in earshot.

“What …?!”

“It’s called Polyjuice potion. Heard about it?”

Indeed she had, when she’d been at St. Mungo’s and Hermione Granger had regaled her with stories from the recent past. Yet, she couldn’t believe it. “You … you’re not …”

“Spot on! Congratulations!”

Her jaw dropped. She didn’t know what to say.

“Problem is”, Draco went on in Severus Snape’s voice, “it wears off after an hour or so. So I have to _refreshen_.” He patted his chest at the spot where the flask was hidden. “An erstwhile … _colleague_ of mine gave me the idea.”

So the ‘dilated pupils’ hadn’t been dilated at all, but merely Draco Malfoys grey eyes slowly turning back into Severus’ black ones. Elena digested all this. A warm feeling spread in her stomach. He hadn’t wanted to leave her alone in this. Suddenly, she felt much much better. But of course, she immediately saw the fly in the ointment, as well.

“This is … great”, she said hesitantly, “but you know, I have to tell you: you’re quite a crappy actor. You don’t do Draco very well at all!”

A crooked grin appeared on the pointed face which, if you knew what was going on, was so much like Severus’ Elena wondered that she hadn’t recognized it right away. “Yeah, well, Draco’s a little bit out of my … range.”

“You have to smile more”, Elena counselled him, “I’m sure you can do an arrogant smile as if you owned the world? I know you can!”

“I’m not per se an arrogant person.”

“Oh yes, you are!”

They stared at each other, Draco/Severus appeared a little miffed.

“This is good!” Elena exclaimed looking at his expression and once more, the man at her side shushed her. “Just imagine that you’re having a constant bad smell in your nose. Like Narcissa. No glowering! – The idea about the cold is good, though. Draco’s real voice is nowhere as nice as yours!”

His stare became a little different. For a moment, she thought that he would ask ‘You think?’, but instead he cleared his throat and looked away.

“Also”, Elena continued, “don’t hug my friends. Draco wouldn’t do that. Plus, he never really met Cassie.”

To Elena’s amusement, ‘Draco’s’ cheeks coloured slightly. “I thought that was something you young people … I certainly didn’t enjoy … well, anyway, thank you for the acting advice”, he said, hoarse again.

Now she couldn’t help smiling. “Thank you for being here”, she said warmly. “You have no idea what it means to me.”

Their eyes locked. It was a peculiar moment, to look into Draco’s eyes that affectionately.

“Draco! Elena!”

It was Narcissa who had called them. She was standing a small distance away, her eyes twinkling. “Oh my, look at you two …”

Magrathea Crowley appeared at her heel with a sickly sweet smile. “Just to let you know – the buffet is ready, please help yourselves! All that flirtation must have made you hungry …”

Elena grinned and gently took Draco’s/Severus’ hand. It came far more easy to her now. “Come on, _Süßer_ ”, she said, “we really should mingle a little more. And I wouldn’t mind a bite, either …”

The endearment brought a small smile to his face. It was clear that he remembered it and there was an intimate moment between them, passing back and fro between their eyes. Everyone saw it – Narcissa, Magrathea, Aeneas Crowley, too, and it made Cassie Cleary frown in confusion. Behind Cassie stood Stephen Periwinkle, a thoughtful look on his face while he watched closely as Elena and ‘Draco’ sailed over into the adjacent hall where long rows of table bent under the weight of overloaded plates and trays, bowls and decanters …

* * *

 

Having Severus in close proximity did a lot for Elena’s state of mind. Saying that she was relaxed would have been an exaggeration, but she found it much easier now to at least act her usual self. She was even able to laugh and joke, and so dinner became a merry affair, considering the circumstances. Her plans with Stephen Periwinkle wandered to the back of her mind. The right opportunity would come and he would in time inform her accordingly. And even if it came to pass, she would know that Severus was on the spot; she completely trusted his resourcefulness, his ability to think of something should things go wrong.

It was astonishing to see that their little exchange and his denouement to her had relaxed him, as well. He did a little better at playing Draco Malfoy, appropriately wrinkled his nose every now and then and did quite a good imitation at the young man’s swagger. Probably, he remembered how Lucius Malfoy had been when young. Maybe in his own youth he had sometimes wanted to be more like his pure-blood friend, and that helped him play the role. Apart from Elena, Narcissa was always close to him and spoke for him, explaining to everybody that her son had a ‘horribly sore throat’. The other part of his acting was flirtation with Elena, and this he did admirably well, gallantly kissing her hand every now and then, seeking her eyes which was all the more easier now that they shared a secret.

Even Cassie was taken in, paying whispered compliments to Elena once or twice since in her eyes ‘it really looks like your _so_ in love with him’. Well, she was; but she thought it wise not to inform her friend on ‘Draco’s’ true identity lest she make a mistake and blow their cover. Elena was glad to learn, however, that Cassie’s first confusion after the obliviation arch had worn off. She still didn’t remember how she had come here; but she recalled everything about what happened before, the plans they had made for tonight. And so, for the time being, all Elena could do was wait and enjoy the party as best as she could.

Of course, a party at the Crowley academy wouldn’t have been a party without a solemn speech rendered by Magrathea Crowley. She did it very charmingly, thanking her guests for coming and trusting in the fact that they were having “ample opportunity to convince themselves that the academy follows a noble pursuit and that the witches and wizards studying and teaching here are nothing but a happy little family”. Those words made Elena look at Stephen who’d been obliged to stay by his family’s side – “unless he do something stupid and embarrass us”, as Waldemar Periwinkle had snidely remarked to Elena (it had made her hand itch with the wish to slap him) – but he returned her gaze in that moment, his face leaving no doubt on what he was thinking: ‘What a load of bollocks!’

Elena tried to talk to Stephen several times during the party, casually walking over to him with plate or punch in hand, but every time she found that someone butted in, mostly Waldemar. It was as if they were shielding him off from her. Thought her a bad influence, maybe? At some point, Waldemar whispered to her “We don’t want to give Mr Malfoy the wrong idea, do we?” What a load of bollocks …

All this worried Elena considerably. She couldn’t help glancing over to old Ansgard Periwinkle every now and then and notice how uptight he appeared. Well, he always looked as if he had a stick up his backside, but tonight his general discomfort with life and himself was particularly obvious. She wondered why that was. And what did it have to do with Stephen. Was old Ansgard really shielding his son off? And why? What was he afraid of? She resolved to ask Stephen the minute she had him to herself; if that would ever happen tonight, and to her it seemed more improbable by the minute. All she could do right now was wait how the evening would play out.

After everyone had been sufficiently filled by the generous buffet – consisting of all the traditional Christmas specialities that Elena had mostly never tasted before (and she was surprised at the splendid quality, having been raised with bad prejudices on English cooking) – the little orchestra that had welcomed guests earlier took up playing dance music. Not a small number of guests were inebriated enough to not care anymore and happily stumble across the floor. Elena found it very amusing to watch – the punch had loosened her up, as well – and thought that maybe her fate and future in the wizarding world lay in founding a dancing school on Diagon Alley. At some point, her magic might even be good enough to invent spells to support this; touch someone with her wand, for instance, and improve their posture for the waltz. However, she was soon surprised to find out that their hosts, Magrathea and Aeneas Crowley, were very proficient dancers. They swept across the floor in harmony, and so Elena couldn’t help complementing Madam Crowley when she came back, cheeks flushed and looking happy.

“Thank you, my dear”, she replied graciously, “it means a lot, coming from you. Yes, I _do_ remember how you used to earn your money in the Muggle world.” Her eyes strayed to ‘Draco’ who was standing by Elena’s side, coolly sweeping white-blond hair out of his face. “Don’t you dance, Mr Malfoy?”

For a fleeting moment, a look of shock swept over his face. “Well, not exactly …” He coughed.

“Oh, but they teach you at Hogwarts!” cried Magrathea. “I happen to know this! Minerva McGonagall’s said to be quite a good dancing teacher …”

“She’s not _that_ good”, ‘Draco’ murmured, his voice no more than a rasp.

However, the waltz she’d just enjoyed with her husband had made Magrathea as enthusiastic as a little girl. “Oh, please, Mr Malfoy! You _must_ dance with Miss Horwath! Do us the favour!”

‘Bloody f…’, thought Elena. She saw Narcissa’s face that had visibly blanched. Certainly, her son Draco could dance. But it was obvious that she knew that Severus Snape couldn’t, and wouldn’t.

“My son’s not feeling too well, Madam Crowley …”

“Nonsense!” cried the lady with un-ladylike raucousness. “If he can eat, he can dance!”

Elena’s mind worked overtime. What to do? How to get out of this? Maybe she should fake an accident when walking towards the dance floor? A sprained ankle might do nicely …

Then she heard Draco’s voice, or rather, the rasp Severus had adopted in order to play ‘Draco with a sore throat’. “Well, why not?” He sounded bored. “Although, if you don’t mind, Madam Crowley, I’m not too partial to the waltz and would greatly prefer a slow fox. I find it less … cheesy. – D’you think your merry little band over there can manage that?”

Elena didn’t trust her ears. Slowly, she turned her head and glared at Draco/Severus. However, he looked perfectly composed.

“Of course they can!” Now Magrathea was almost shouting. Clearly, she had not only danced but also drunk too much. She clapped her hands loudly and as she walked over to the podium where the band was positioned, she cried out. “Ladies and Gentlemen! I have the pleasure to announce that Miss Elena Horwath – a student at this fine establishment – and Mr Draco Malfoy – who doesn’t need introduction – will now regale us with a slow fox, one of the most noblest turns of ballroom dancing. Watch closely! Those two youngsters know what they are doing!”

“Are you bloody _nuts_?” Elena hissed at Draco/Severus. “The slow fox is really, really difficult, probably the most difficult of the standards, it took _me_ a long time …”

He interrupted her with an impetuous gesture of his hand. Then he whispered in her ear, and in fluent Slovenian, “As always, you’re underestimating me, dear Elena.”

She cottoned on then. “You mean …?”

“You’ll see.”

She let him lead her to the dance floor, although it felt as if she was walking on air, her knees weak, her heart pounding with nervousness. The band started playing. Elena recognized the tune, an instrumental version of ‘Night and Day’. It was one of her favourites. ‘Draco’ walked calmly at her side, and as soon as he took up posture, she knew that it was going to be fine. He knew what he was doing. That trip to her subconscious had taught him a lot.

“Remind me”, he snarled quietly with his normal Severus-Snape voice, “which foot starts?”

She looked up in one final shock, then saw his grin. “Idiot!”

Of course, the dance was perfect. She should have known that Severus would never suggest anything that he wasn’t confident that he could do; if he hadn’t been sure of himself, he would have found a way out. As they swept across the dance floor, Elena even got the feeling that she had done this with him before.

“So I taught you the slow fox in my subconscious?” she whispered to him, still awed.

“Ada taught me Slovenian; you the slow fox.”

“You didn’t tell me about that part! What exactly happened?”

“I’ll tell you another time …”

“No, no, no! I want to know now! How did I teach you to do this??”

Draco/Severus sighed while he lead her into a dynamic weave that went down almost the whole length of the dance floor. “I had to save you.”

“Save me from what?”

“Your prison. Where you were forever damned to wait for the man who’d give you the perfect dance in order to free you.”

She digested this. “And … did you? Free me?”

“Of course. Or I wouldn’t have found out about the location of this place.”

“Do you remember it now? I mean, you and Narcissa were made to walk under the arch, too, weren’t you?”

“Yes. – However, as I’ve had the knowledge before, that damn arch couldn’t Obliviate me. It only made me a little drowsy, which was probably the reason for my initial … difficulties when playing Draco.”

Elena giggled as she let him push her into an impetus with an elegant feather finish. She enjoyed the fact that she could talk openly to him now, their words drowned by the music and the chatter of the guests. “You’re doing much better now.”

“Why, thank you. – But tell me: what’s the plan for tonight?”

“I have no idea. They don’t let me get Stephen on his own.”

“Haven’t you … prepared?”

“He wouldn’t tell me anything! Only thing he said was that we were going to take off at some point. By the way old Periwinkle and Waldemar are watching him right now, however, I doubt that we’ll have the chance …”

Draco/Severus said nothing for a while. “Maybe better like this”, he murmured eventually, but sounded disappointed.

“But I’m a hundred per cent sure that something’s going to happen! There are a lot of Ministry officials here tonight …”

“So I’ve noticed.”

“… do you think this is a coincidence?”

“I don’t know. What I do know, though, is that this place is full of dark magic. I can feel it. Like it’s hiding in the walls …”

“Cassie said the same thing!”

“Miss Cleary is a clever witch.”

“She’s going to provide my cover later. _If_ anything is going to happen at all. She’ll change her dress to my cherry red and her hair, too. You better stay close to her then, but steer clear of the Crowleys. Ask Narcissa to distract them.”

Draco/Severus gave an assenting grunt, but said nothing more; a hover telemark took up all of his attention for a few beats.

“You really do this very well!”

“Thank you.”

“You know, it’s not fair. Your magic is far better than mine, and now I’m not even the better dancer anymore!”

“Only where the slow fox is concerned. You can give me that, can’t you?”

Again, she giggled. “Maybe you’ll let me teach you the other dances now, as well?”

“Completely out of the question! I’m not going to let you make a fool out of me!”

“Tell me, Severus”, she said, completely ignoring his protest, “was there something else going on in my subconscious that you haven’t told me about?”

“Maybe.”

“What does ‘maybe’ mean?”

“That it may well be.”

“So there was!?”

However, he didn’t reply, didn’t have the time, anyway, because already the dance came to an end, the last chords rang out and Severus gave her a push to send her into a little twirl that she ended with a curtsey while he bowed to her elegantly.

There was enthusiastic applause from all around. Elena caught a glance of Narcissa who stood on the side lines with very large eyes like someone who’d just seen something they didn’t really believe. Magrathea Crowley was the one who gave the loudest jubilations; beside her, Cassie was simply laughing her head off.

Elena stretched out her hand to Draco/Severus to allow him to lead her off the dance floor. He took it, but instead of guiding her he pulled her close. Before she knew it, his arm was around her waist and in the next moment, he was kissing her. It took Elena a few seconds to realize what was happening. Draco was kissing her … no! _Severus Snape_ kissing her! Daringly, uncharacteristically. But then, he wasn’t Severus Snape right now, he was being Draco Malfoy. And Draco Malfoy could do things that Severus Snape would never even consider. Kiss a woman in public, for instance. Elena had the distinct feeling that he was enjoying himself, that he even enjoyed being someone else and having different liberties to go with it, and so she relaxed into the kiss, returned it warmly and a little passionately, too. It generated even more applause.

“Was that the ‘maybe’?” she asked gently after their lips had parted, but got no reply apart from a crooked grin as Draco/Severus finally led her back to Narcissa, Cassie and the others. Everyone smiled and ‘awww’ed. Glowing compliments were paid. Only Cassie growled darkly into Elena’s ear, “Next time, warn me. I was on the verge of puking. One can overdo it with the acting, you know!”

Elena replied with a merry laugh. She had the feeling that if her friend had known who she had really kissed, she’d be even more confused. She watched with glee as people complimented ‘Draco’, asking him how he had learnt to dance like that. Even old Periwinkle appeared impressed.

Suddenly, Stephen stood right behind Elena. “The ballet”, he hissed at her.

“What??” She only half turned.

“There’s going to be a ballet later. The elven ballet is Magrathea’s obsession. They’ll give a full performance. That’s when we take off. Watch me.”

“When …?” Elena turned fully, but Stephen was already walking away from her, hands in the pockets of his dress robes, looking completely unconcerned.

She gulped. Suddenly, her heart was beating madly, and not from the dance or the kiss. So they _were_ going to pull it off …

As if in a daze, she walked up to one of the house-elves armed with trays and snatched off another glass of punch. She really shouldn’t do this, but sorely needed it. Then she went back to ‘Draco’, took his hand and whispered the news into his ear. He didn’t give any sign of surprise or alarm; after all, Severus Snape was hiding inside of him, a man used to not letting his emotions show. He just nodded casually, but she felt the pressure of his fingers increasing.

The party went on in punch-fuelled merriment. Conversation came easy now, but did nothing to calm Elena’s returned nervousness. She found herself closely watching Magrathea Crowley who had freshened up in the meantime. Maybe someone – her husband? – had told her that she had had too much to drink.

The moment when the Lady of the Manor clapped her hands once more and walked into middle of the dance floor came all too soon.

“Ladies and Gentlemen”, she called out, her voice much steadier now, “we have had a very joyful evening so far and I would like to catch your attention once more for a very special surprise that my husband and I have prepared for you.” She took a small break that she used to cast around a meaningful look with her arresting blue eyes. The crowd quieted down only after quite a while. “As some of you might know, the elven ballet and particularly its reconstruction after the recent war is a project very close to my heart. It was very important to me to uphold this tradition which is at the backbone of our wizarding world. I’m happy to announce to you that the top troupe of the elven ballet has graciously agreed to give a performance in this establishment tonight!” ‘Oh’s and ‘Ah’s rang out, accompanied by clapping. ‘Draco’ caught Elena’s eyes, and she sought out Cassie’s, who clearly understood this to be the clue. “So, please, if you all will join me in the adjacent blue salon! I promise you all, this will be a night to remember!”

The words reverberated from the arched walls, sounding ominous. They also sounded like a prophecy.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_A pre-Christmas chapter for the pre-Christmas season, hope you enjoyed it. Again, I made you wait a long time but am happy to say that my schedule is getting lighter and my ambitious aim is to update again for Severus’ birthday on 09 January._

_Thank you all for your patience, have yourselves a merry little Christmas and arrive safely in 2018 which will hopefully be more quieter and more harmonious and peaceful than 2017, not so much on a personal level, but most of all globally. Sorely needed, I think!_


	32. The Crypt

**The Crypt**

 

And again, she walked in a basement vault. The ceiling was low, there was the murky smell that appeared to dominate any kind of cellar, either in the wizarding or Muggle world, and Elena mused on the fact that everything that was interesting only ever happened underground. She remembered the bowels of Hogwarts through which she had crept in her last adventure, and also the dungeons of the Ministry of Magic where sinister things had happened. And exactly as on those occasions, her skin was crawling and the only thing she could hear was her own pulse pounding in her ears. Yes, and sometimes a distant eruption of music coming from far away and above, a reminder of the fact that the elven ballet was in full swing.

She had had no mind for it from the start, had hardly noticed the small creatures gliding and hopping across the stage with undeniable and quite astounding grace. Surely, she had missed a fascinating spectacle. Everyone had assured her that it was something to remember, an old wizarding tradition that many felt privileged to attend. Only Severus – his guise of Draco Malfoy refreshed by a secret gulp from his flask – had murmured to her that he found it “quite overrated”, but then it was hard to imagine Snape enjoying a ballet. He had preferred to use the few precious minutes they had had in the darkened blue salon with the performance just beginning to caution her to be careful and not to get herself into more danger than was absolutely necessary. Of course, he had also thought up a few fall-back positions in case of an emergency and had whispered instructions into her ear, assuring her that he would watch out for her as good as he could. Although Elena had listened to him carefully, and while his words hadn’t done too much to calm her (most of all because she’d still been tingling from their kiss), she still hadn’t been able to ignore the rapt attention on the faces of the other spectators who had watched the ensuing ballet in fascination and utter silence, and had quite understood why it was such a wonderful opportunity to slip out.

So now it was the bowels of Abrasax House. Or was it still? They had been on their way in the narrow passage below ground for quite a while. The man walking beside her was just as silent as the spectators above had been; quite obviously, Stephen Periwinkle didn’t think it necessary to explain what he was doing and where he was leading her. His face in the pool of his _Lumos_ was uncommunicative, but also very focussed.

There was a range of questions that Elena would have wanted to ask him. How it came that he seemed to know this underground passages so well, for instance. Had he been here before? Right after they had escaped the blue salon and its performance and met in one of the unlit adjacent rooms, he had taken the lead confidently, guiding her through flights of rooms and around the staff members that were posted here and there, out of the way of the hordes of house elves clearing off the remnants of the buffet. It had appeared to Elena that he always knew in advance where anyone would be, as if by some instinct; but maybe, he simply knew the routines of Abrasax House very well. Why he did, however, she could not imagine.

He had soon found a painting on a wall – an innocuous landscape – that hid a hole leading into a passage into which he had made her climb. Elena had duly noted that he also knew the password that had made the picture hover away, just long enough for them to clamber in. Again, she had asked herself how he could have known it. What was he doing in this place, anyway, what kind of connection did he have to the school, what kind of connection did the Periwinkles have to the Crowleys?

Suddenly, she couldn’t contain herself any longer.

“Won’t you be missed?” she blurted out.

He slightly turned his face towards her. The dark shadows on it, along with the blackish eyes and the heavy brows made him look sinister and irritated.

“Your family was watching over you all evening”, Elena said reasonably, carefully dropping her voice, “they’ll probably be up in arms by now because you’re gone.”

“Hardly”, was the curt reply.

However, she wasn’t ready to drop it. “Why??”

Stephen issued a deep sigh. “Because my father hasn’t even noticed yet that I’m gone. And I don’t care about Waldemar.”

The last comment she could only agree to. “Waldemar’s an ass.”

“And stupid”, Stephen concurred dryly. “Father will be mad at him for not taking better care of me. If he notices.”

Even in the relative dark, Elena could see a small smile cross his handsome face. She realized suddenly that Stephen had his own way of getting back at his brother, and that he knew himself to be the smarter one by far.

“But how can your father _not_ notice?” she asked eventually.

Another sigh, very irritated. “Because he slipped out five minutes earlier.”

Elena digested this. Another ‘Why’ was on her lips, but she thought it better to keep it to herself. The passage they were walking down had come to an end. They had been in it for a long time; by now, the music – or rather, the ghost of music that she had occasionally heard at first – had completely died down. Elena couldn’t really tell anymore for how long. Now, a large door with an iron lock bar blocked their way. It didn’t appear to irk or deter Stephen in any way. He approached the rough brick wall next to it, took a few seconds and then touched his wand to one of the bricks. It was like entering Diagon Alley: a gap opened up in the wall; it was narrow, but enough for them to squeeze through one after the other. Before he entered, Stephen paused once more, listened into the darkness. Then he gestured for her to follow him.

The passage widened only a fraction and went down a flight of very steep and downtrodden steps. Their progress was slow and in addition Elena felt that the air changed, became thick and even murkier. She found it harder to breathe, but it might have been her nervousness.

“Stephen?”, she whispered at his back. He hadn’t re-lit his _Lumos_. Only hers cast a weak light onto the slippery slope of steps.

He didn’t acknowledge that he had heard her and she took it as a license to speak. “Is your father under some kind of … redress?”

Stephen didn’t reply. He wasn’t the kind that would have explained that he couldn’t talk about it. He preferred to simply refrain from answering.

“’Cause I’ve watched him all night, your father, he _hates_ Crowley, and to me it seems like that man has something on …”

“Quiet now!” Stephen hissed over his shoulder, none too kindly. “Have you come to talk or to see?”

She clamped her mouth shut, surprised at the strange kind of authority her quiet companion suddenly issued. At least, he appeared to know exactly what he was doing. But how?

All of a sudden, she felt stupid for trusting him like that. He might lead her anywhere and she would be totally at his mercy! The only reason she had come along with him was because her gut feeling had told her that she could do so. The fact, however, was that she didn’t know anything about Stephen Periwinkle. Maybe he had only played the lost soul, having realized that she was a compassionate Muggle, ever ready to fend for the bullied and the outcast?

Elena tried to compose herself, told herself that this was probably just paranoia. Anyway, it was good that Stephen didn’t know about the fact that Severus was close by and she decided not to tell him. This was just for her, to make her calmer, knowing that Severus would be watching out for her return and, if it didn’t happen, would think of something, although she couldn’t even begin to imagine what and just had to trust in her view that he wasn’t a great wizard for nothing … Again, it dawned on her what a half-assed plan all this was. Why had Severus even allowed her to go through with it?

They had reached the bottom of the stairs. In front of them stretched another passage. Once again, the air changed. But this time, Elena thought that she could smell something sweet. Sweet with an undercurrent of the foul, to be precise. It wasn’t pleasant.

Stephen had stopped, looked at her.

“We will have to crawl into this”, he informed her, pointing at an opening in the wall. It was a rectangular hole, looking like an enlarged air duct. She held her _Lumos_ to it and saw that it went deep into a massive stone wall.

“Are you _serious_?” Elena gulped. She was prone to claustrophobia. Crawling through this narrow space would make her feel like being wedged into a coffin.

Stephen nodded gravely. There was a strange expression around his mouth.

“Is there no other way?”

“Do you want to find out what’s going on in this place or not?”

“Yes, but …” She shook her head. He was right, this was what she had come for. But suddenly, everything seemed out of the ordinary, dangerous, sinister; even Stephen giving her a sarcastic grin.

“Won’t _Draco Malfoy_ miss you?” he asked suddenly.

She stared at him; took a few steps back – it happened quite involuntarily. “Stephen, what are you up to?” The way he had pronounced the name Draco Malfoy, as if he knew …

“Won’t he?” repeated Stephen doggedly. “’Cause we can’t have him run around in this place looking for you, alerting everyone.”

“He won’t”, she said, her voice hoarse.

“How can you be sure?”

She swallowed dryly, shrugged. “He’s not the kind of guy to run after a woman.”

A small grin appeared on his face. Once more, he pointed to the rectangular opening. “It’s only about fifteen yards in. However, you must extinguish your _Lumos_. It could be seen from the other side.”

“What’s on the other side?” she whispered breathlessly.

“The crypt”, he replied, “we’re under Abrasax Manor right now.”

The crypt. She had heard about it – when? Yes, that day of her visit to the Manor, at Magrathea Crowley’s invitation. “What’s going on there?”

“It’s winter solstice today”, Stephen said in his lowest voice. “Important day for magic. It’s no coincidence they set this party for tonight. It’s nothing but a front.”

The question ‘A front for what?’ was on the tip of Elena’s tongue, but Stephen anticipated it by pointing into the opening again. Obviously, he wasn’t prepared to say any more. And he didn’t really need to. After all, she had sensed this all along. She remembered all the important people who had been to the party, Ministry officials, prominent figures of the wizarding world and ample opportunities to slip out without anyone the wiser. She didn’t like the idea of crawling into this space any better than before, but was able to counteract her paranoia as she was once more convinced that Stephen really wanted to show her something significant, that he was not just guiding her into trouble. Also, she remembered the words Draco/Severus had whispered to her before she had stolen herself out of the blue room. “If something bad happens, use the alert spell. Otherwise, I’ll watch for any sign of commotion, anything that’s awkward.” She knew that he would. After all, you could very well expect an ex-spy to have his eyes anywhere.

With a sigh, she muttered “ _Nox_ ” and the light on her wand went dead. Then she probed for the opening which was approximately level with her head before she used the rough wall to push herself up with her feet (it was pretty clear to her that a bunk-up would be too much to ask of Stephen). It wasn’t too difficult to slide into the opening and she crawled in a little on all fours before, her spine brushing against the duct’s ceiling, she paused to listen if Stephen was following her. Soon, she heard the rustling of his clothes and his small coughs as he followed, and then slowly, painstakingly made her way forward once more.

The sweetish smell increased. It was an incense of some kind and its source came from the other side of the narrow aperture. As she crawled on, she could suddenly discern voices, no more than murmurs, but they had an echo as if spoken in a large, high-ceilinged room. The voice of a man, deep and calm, was followed by a pause. Then another voice, considerably higher and with a sound close to a moan.

Elena, crawling on all fours, stopped, listened and felt cold. What was happening there? In her mind, vivid images of a woman or girl being tortured were forming. She increased her speed, ignored the claustrophobic feeling closing in on her and made it to the other side of the aperture where an equally large rectangle opened up.

As she reached it and carefully peeked over the edge, she saw a gallery just under her. It lay in darkness, but the space beyond the roughly carved stone bannister was illuminated by what was maybe a torch or a bunch of candles. The smell of the incense was much stronger now, Elena even imagined that it went to her head and made it swim, so pervading and sickly sweet was it. The voices she heard – the calm one and the moan – came from further down, below the gallery.

She felt Stephen crawling to her side. He pointed onto the gallery and motioned her to climb out of the hole. She did so, careful not to make any noise, and it took a while. All the time the voices could be heard. The moan increased and became a pitiful wail; it was clear that it belonged to a woman who was obviously in some kind of pain. As Elena slid down from out of the opening, her feet thudded onto stony ground and for a moment, she stayed down, hunched, her face contorted. However, on the other side of the bannister the voices went on undisturbed; whatever they were doing down there, they were probably too busy to have heard anything.

Stephen slid out of the air duct as quietly as a cat. Elena couldn’t help noticing how nimble he was; it also looked as if he had done this little exercise many times and knew exactly what to expect. As soon as he was out, he started to move, beckoning to her to follow him. Pressed against the wall, they glided quietly along the gallery until they reached a large statue at its edge. It showed an angel with spread wings and a drawn sword: Saint Michael, belligerently staring down onto whatever was going on below. The wide wings provided even more shadow on the gallery and were ideal to hide behind but also to look out from underneath. As she did so, a weird little scenario opened up in front of Elena’s eyes.

What was down there – Elena estimated the distance to be about fifteen metres – was obviously a crypt as she had sometimes seen it in the lower regions of large churches and cathedrals. She could see stony coffins against the walls and hidden in niches, adorned with praying figurines. There were also graves sunk into the weakly illuminated stone floor, crosses carved onto them. However, the tombs didn’t dominate the space, but a small three-legged stool did, placed on what looked like a huge bowl, at least five metres in diameter. At the edges of the bowl, there was a glow as if from lit coals; it was this glow that provided the faint light in the crypt and was also the source of the fumes that Elena could see wafting upwards, producing the sweetish, mind-boggling smell. On the three-legged stool, the slight figure of a woman, no, a young girl was perched. Elena recognized her immediately. The pale girl who had been on the carriage ride with her on her first day at the Crowley Academy. She was the one who was moaning, while her head lolled back and forth. However, she was not in pain – but in obvious trance.

‘They’ve got a Pythia’, Elena thought, unable to tear her eyes off the girl. The black veil she had worn on earlier occasions was gone; instead, black thin hair fell over her shoulder, framing the white face with the very red lips. Even from up above, it was clear that her irises had wandered up into the eye sockets – only the whites were visible. The thin white gown the girl wore was bathed in sweat. Although what Elena saw was not exactly a scene of torture, she felt extremely uncomfortable. This girl sat amidst thick fumes that had put her into a different state and that couldn’t possibly be very healthy; also, she had certainly been placed there to produce a desired result. Suddenly Elena remembered the Sybils. Severus had mentioned them at some point, the way they had been used without regard to their health and well-being. At a different point in time, Stephen had mentioned the Sybils, as well, in connection with the Robert Graves book she had given him. She understood now that this had been his way of trying to tell her what was going on in this place.

Her eyes sought his, but Stephen was entirely focussed on the scene down below. Elena could not discern any emotion on his face, but she sensed that the fate of this girl moved him, that he had wanted to show her an injustice going on, someone being unscrupulously taken advantage of. He noticed Elena’s look, gave her another irritated glance before he pointed down once more, urging her to concentrate, to listen.

The girl on the three-legged stool continued her moaning, but Elena didn’t have to listen too hard to hear her as her voice carried very well in the crypt.

“… _sang … sang de dragon_ …”

The calm male voice answered. “You told us about the dragon blood. What we need is the date. The date to best get it.”

From her hiding place, Elena saw another figure moving slowly towards the bowl in the centre of the crypt, a figure with the hood up, a role of parchment and quill in hand. Obviously, this person was taking down notes from what the girl issued in her drugged state. Elena couldn’t see the face, nor did she think that she had ever heard that calm voice before.

The girl wailed, squirmed in discomfort.

The hooded figure began to walk around the bowl.

“Go within yourself”, the calm voice commanded, and there was something harsh and unrelenting in it, “make an effort. – The date to best do it?”

Another moan, a deep sigh and – after what seemed like an eternity when you were hiding and trying to listen – “ _… when Mars squares Uranus …_ ”

The hooded figure started to scribble right away while quietly gliding around the bowl. When it had walked almost half-circle, Elena could finally see the face, or what was there instead of a face: a gilded mask in the shape of a jackal. She got a shock. Of course, she had seen the Anubis mask before, on the night that she and Severus had been accosted by a whole gang wearing them and a pack of rabid hellhounds … She shuddered and at the same time felt suddenly alert. This was proof! Proof that the Crowley academy had something to do with what had recently been going on in the wizarding world; satyrs, hellhounds, and guys wearing Anubis masks! And she was seeing it with her own eyes …

She heard the calm voice say “Good”, and for a while, nothing at all happened. The figure walked around the bowl, stopped scribbling, walked some more. “Collect yourself”, it demanded quietly, “open up your mind and spirit. You are nothing but an instrument of the Gods’ will, don’t reject them, give yourself to them.”

The girl responded with another moan.

“What else do you see?” the masked figure went on.

“Saturn is angry”, the girl said haltingly; she had a pronounced accent that was obviously French, “this is his time, he will not idle. He has his servant watch.”

“The same servant you warned us of before?”

“He is close”, whimpered the girl, “ _very_ close!”

Now the hooded figure squirmed a little. This wasn’t good news. Again, the Anubis-masked man started scribbling, and quite enthusiastically.

“Open yourself up once more. – How can this servant be killed?”

A hard wail responded. It became so shrill it rang in Elena’s ears.

“He cannot be killed”, the girl cried as if this caused her tremendous pain, “ _il est ressuscité des morts_!”

At school, Elena’s French had always sucked – it was the one language that she couldn’t properly get her head around. However, maybe because she wanted to and needed it, she understood these words quite well: _he rose from the dead_. She only knew one person – apart from the obvious one who certainly wanted nothing to do with these shenanigans – who had come back from a supposed death …

“Any human being can be killed”, the calm voice below said reasonably. “You are bringing yourself into this, you’re not opening up enough! – I ask you again: how can he be killed?”

The wail that followed was close to hysterics. The girl began to sob and suddenly, in quite a different voice, began to plead, “Please, stop this … _Arrêtez, s’il vous plait, j’ne peux plus_ …”

“We’ve only just started! You’re nothing but an instrument, remember? You want to please the high priest of Anubis, don’t you?!”

More sobbing. “ _Mais ça me fait mal_!” But this hurts.

“Alright. We may pause a little. However, you are not excused. This is an important night and the high priest is waiting for results. – Calm yourself. Collect yourself. Hand yourself over to the Gods, the God of Wrath, the God of Revenge. You can be good again later.”

The girl was weeping now, her hands on her face. However, the hooded and masked man did nothing to console her, just continued to walk around the bowl at a measured pace. Only very slowly did the girl calm down, wiped her cheeks, swallowed her tears. The man with the Anubis mask produced his wand, lighted its tip and set it to the rim of the bowl where the incense alighted anew to produce a wave of dense fumes. The girl on the three-legged stool issued a long-drawn sigh, then a moan before her head lolled back in an almost comic manner.

Up on the gallery, in the shadows of St. Michael’s wings, Elena grabbed the sleeve of Stephen’s dressrobes. “This is unbelievable!” she hissed. “They are drugging her! She’s not even off age!”

“She’s a medium”, Stephen murmured, “as far as they’re concerned, she’s doing her bloody job.” However, the expression on his face was very dark.

“We should do something! We can’t let this go on …”

However, Stephen shushed her. “There is nothing we can do”, he whispered, almost without tone.

“But …”

“Quiet now!”

There had been a noise and Elena, too, gave a little jolt. It had been the squeak of a door being drawn open. There were footsteps and a little later, two more figures came into view. They had their hoods up, and although Elena and Stephen could only see the back of their veiled heads, it was clear that the new arrivals had donned masks, as well. Elena also noticed that they were of equal height, but different considerably in their build; while one of them was stately, the other was as thin as a rake and his cloak looked slightly too large for him.

The statelier one of the two approached the figure who was taking the notes. “Anything new?” Voices carried in the high and narrow crypt and the two young people hiding on the gallery had no trouble hearing the conversation, even though it was conducted in low tones.

“Nothing much”, replied the note-taker, and disappointment could be heard in his words. “She keeps insisting on the Mars-crossing-Uranus situation …”

“But that’s at least half a year off!”

“Five months, to be precise.”

“We need to do the hit much earlier! Also, we need the infusion for …”

“I know. But every time I bring it up, she gets into the ‘servant of Saturn’ funk.”

“That again, huh?” The speaker had walked alongside the bowl a bit and now the gleam of his mask came into view. Up on the gallery, Elena noticed that she recognized his voice. It was deep and charismatic, and she was sure that the man was none other than Aeneas Crowley.

“’Servant of Saturn’, was does that mean?” cried the thin man who’d remained standing in front of the bowl, hesitating to come closer. His voice sounded querulous, but also like something rattling in a tin can. Elena shot a side glance at Stephen, but he didn’t acknowledge it, merely stared doggedly ahead at the scene.

“Someone who might cross our plans”, the stately man replied and gave an audible sigh. “Someone who is under the protection of Saturn.”

“Protection of Saturn? That doesn’t make any sense!” snarled the tin-can voice.

The man who was very probably Crowley turned around. The mask hid his face, but he tilted his head in what could be interpreted as a sarcastic manner. “You of all people should be able to guess. Or do you have no knowledge of astrology?”

“I think it’s bollocks!”

“That’s regrettable. Let me educate you. Saturn dominates the sign of Capricorn. So this someone who might cross our plans, who we should be careful of, is very likely someone born under that sign, or someone with a strong Capricorn influence in his birth horoscope. Someone, too, who ‘rose from the dead’. – Does that ring a bell?”

In her hiding place, Elena squirmed. On the floor down in the crypt, the scrawny man squirmed, as well.

“Is that why you were so keen on …”

“You know very well that I do nothing without good cause! And I heed the signs of fate.”

The stately man turned away and did something peculiar. He stepped over the fuming rim of the bowl and walked up to the medium on the three-legged stool. Elena was certain that this was something the Romans would never have done with a Sybil in trance, their fear and respect would have been to great. This, of course, meant that the girl was in a far more pitiful situation than the Sybils had been; she was not only used, but also disrespected.

In the next moment, however, she wasn’t so sure anymore, because she saw the stately man kneeling in front of the medium, gently taking her hand. “My dear …”

She came out of her trance state a bit. “Make him stop, please”, she demanded with a petulant wail. “I can’t do this any longer, the things he asks me …”

“But sweetheart”, said the man, gently stroking her hand, “I have explained to you, haven’t I? How important this is for us, for our lives, our _future_ lives?”

“Aeneas, please …”, whimpered the girl.

“Shshsh”, the man at her feet interrupted her, “in here, I am the high priest and you must address me as such.”

“Yes, but …”

“No buts!” However, he didn’t stop patting her hand. And after a while, he lifted it to his mouth to touch his lips to her fingers.

Elena’s eyebrows went up as she saw this. The exchange between the masked man she believed to be Crowley and the young medium was tender, intimate, even. Could it be that …? She suddenly remembered the pointers of strain that she had seen or imagined to see in the Crowley marriage. Was this the reason? And suddenly, there was another thought in her head: ‘If Magrathea is afraid of losing her husband to a much younger rival, it’s no wonder she wants the red stone …’ The Stone of Love, after all.

The man who was probably Crowley continued to talk to the girl, but now his voice was no more than a whisper and it was impossible for Elena to hear what he said to her, or she to him, apart from her repeated moans of discomfort. After a while, however, the ‘high priest’ got up from the floor and left the bowl’s circle. “Shall we try again?” he asked casually from the man who held the quill and parchment. “She has promised to make an effort this time.”

The man with the quill nodded assent and lit his wand once more to produce more incense at the rim of the bowl. In the meantime, the scrawny man who’d remained at the periphery approached Crowley. “Can I ask her now?” he hissed.

“Easy does it”, the other replied with authority, “there are more important things at stake here than your private matters. We are still to obtain a good date for the hit. We cannot wait five months, it would throw us back indefinitely. They’d all be dead by then.”

“And I guess you’d have to resort to _Muggles_ again, wouldn’t you?” A disdainful snort.

“They’ve been helpful”, said Crowley with a shrug. Elena saw clearly now that his mask was more elaborate than that of the other man, it was adorned with glimmering jewels to signify the extraordinary state its wearer had. “Still are.”

Another snort from the scrawny one.

“I know you don’t like it, my old chap …”

“I’m not your _old chap_!” the tin-can voice broke in. “You know why I’m in this! Most of all, however, I’m a law-abiding man! The way you just walk over the Statute of Secrecy makes me _sick_!”

However, the ‘high priest’ only tsked. “Law-abiding, I see …”

“YOU KNOW WHAT I …”

“Calm yourself! Not another word now! You’ll only disturb her trance.”

The scrawny man bent his head; it looked as if he ducked. Once more, Elena had the impression that Crowley had some kind of power over this man who must be Ansgard Periwinkle, judging from the voice. Again, she was tempted to look at Stephen, but didn’t. He was merging with the shadows beside her and was as quiet as one.

The girl fell into trance again. Her head lolled and once more, she started moaning. The two other male figures stood turned to Crowley, taking his cue. As it turned out, he took over the interrogation.

“Open yourself up to receive the counsel of the Gods”, he intoned with his mesmerizing voice, “who look down upon our enterprise with benevolence. Open your inner eye to see what they are telling you. You know that their voice will be clear if you let yourself hear it.”

A huge sigh came from the girl whose eyes rolled back in the sockets, becoming white. What seemed like forever dripped by, slowly, painfully. Suddenly, she took a deep breath and when she spoke, her voice didn’t sound like her own anymore. It was much deeper, that of a grown-up woman. It was also very English. “Mercury will help if the moon wanders into his sign”, she said and with such uncharacteristic firmness all of a sudden that it was as if a different person had invaded her, was taking her over. Elena’s skin crawled, she felt a cold draught cooling her body by several degrees. “He is the God of Lies, of clandestine undertakings. At his most volatile, he will be most generous.”

“That would be the moon in Gemini”, the man with the parchment said helpfully, but Crowley shushed him.

“What are we to do to dispose Mercury more kindly?” he asked instead.

“Sacrifice”, the strange voice that inhabited the medium said, “sacrifice your latest harvest.”

Elena could see how Crowley froze. Of course, the mask on his face gave no emotion away. However, his body did. He didn’t like this message one bit.

“Very well”, he murmured after a while, “now about the ‘servant of Saturn’ …”

“HE MUST NOT BE KILLED!” Her voice was a loud and angry cry all of a sudden. “The God of Death protects him!”

“Alright. He must not be killed.” The Anubis mask that certainly hid the face of Aeneas Crowley nodded as if in assent. “Surely, however, he can be … distracted? His attention … re-focussed?”

This time, the medium answered right away. “He is light and dark at equal parts. The Best and the Worst live on in him, are his fathers. It is a balance not easily tipped but by a serious blow. The result, however, is undecided.”

The man with the mask of high priest said nothing, didn’t even move for a while. It looked as if he was thinking. Maybe, however, he had done it a bit too long, because the medium started to move again, squirm, turn her head from one side to the other. The whimpering started again. No doubt, whoever or whatever had taken her over was gone. When Crowley realized the change, his body language spoke of restlessness. “One last question”, he said impetuously, and added a mock-meek, “if the Gods so please … and just to distract any doubts …”, here he turned slightly towards the scrawny man, “… what must we all do – to get what we want, to achieve our goal? Our grand strike?”

There was a pause, then a sigh. “Cut off the head.”

“What does this mean?”

“Cut off the king’s head”, repeated the voice of the medium which again sounded entirely like that of a young girl, though reasonably decisive. Then, and as if to demonstrate this, her head fell to the side and she was silent.

“The king’s head? What’s that supposed to mean?” The scrawny man had spoken, sounding once more disdainful and quite put-off by the whole procedure.

“It’s symbolic language”, replied the stately man, “all prophecies are symbolic.”

“I know this!” was the angry reply. “But what does it mean in this case? Can’t you at least interpret what’s your little … well, what she’s saying?”

However, Crowley merely chuckled. “I’m sure this will become abundantly clear to you when you take the time and think about it a while. – And didn’t _you_ want to ask her a question?”

A jolt went through the scrawny one’s – probably Ansgard Periwinkle’s – body. When he spoke, he sounded suddenly flustered. “You think … you think I can?”

“I don’t know if you _can_!” the other man said scornfully. “But you could give it a try!”

The scrawny figure was suddenly hot and bothered, that much was visible to Elena even in her hiding spot. He fidgeted a bit, then gathered the folds of his wide cloak and stumbled forward towards the medium who still sat with her head to one side, unmovable. He fidgeted some more, than got clumsily to his knees. It was clear that he was looking for words.

“My dear …”, he stuttered, “dear medium … no. Oh, great medium of Anubis! Will you give me an answer to my question?”

No reply. Elena, who was watching closely, bit her tongue. The man sure made a shambles of this.

“There is something that I need to know … urgently. I’ve been meaning to ask … before … can’t get it out of my mind …” His voice dissolved into a murmur, it was clear that the man was embarrassed by what he was doing here. Elena leant forward, strained her ears. “I need to know if she …. knew … my wife … did she …”

Without warning, Elena felt someone grab her arm and yank her upright. She was on the verge of crying out, but controlled herself just in time. Of course, it was Stephen.

“Let’s go”, he hissed at her, “this is unimportant. We’ve heard enough.” And once more, in a very determined manner: “Let’s go.”

Elena wanted to protest. She was very interested in what the man who she believed to be Ansgard Periwinkle would ask the medium, and in such a flustered way, too. Only just in time did she remember that this man was also Stephen’s father. It was conceivable that he didn’t want to witness his old man’s embarrassment, or that he didn’t want _her_ to witness it. So she let him drag her along, back towards the air duct. However, Stephen stopped short in front of it, became stony and stared into the darkness on the gallery ahead of him.

“What’s the mat…”

“Ssshhhh!”

He must have seen or heard something, because he yanked her around, pushed her in the other direction. “This way!” he commanded hoarsely.

It was very strange, the fact that he commanded her around, was even ready to touch her to get her to do his bidding! It convinced Elena that his behaviour was well-founded, and she was ready to do what he wanted her to do, didn’t put up any resistance and merely hurried with him, with steps as quiet as possible, along the gallery, away from the air duct through which they had crawled. The back of her neck itched, as if in fact there was somebody following them which appeared to be exactly what Stephen was thinking.

He led her towards the stairwell that would have taken them down to the crypt and to the medium’s bowl. However, there was a small door next to the top of it and Stephen opened it with a quiet “ _Alohomora_ ”, then pushed her in. A narrow winding staircase led down into darkness, but other than before these stairs were in good condition and Elena was able to almost fly them down, with Stephen at her heels. When she had arrived at the bottom in a small space with curved walls, she turned around to look at him. With a shock, she realized that he was dumbstruck, didn’t know exactly what to do. Before, he’d been focussed and sinister, but now she saw the ugly signs of insecurity on his face. He pushed open another door and next they hurried through a flight of medieval cellar rooms that became ever darker, and it was Stephen who set the pace, had her hurry without words.

Elena muttered “ _Lumos_ ” to light their way. One stone chamber followed the next, and hadn’t she lost orientation a long time ago, she would have now. It took what seemed like forever until Stephen finally slowed down a bit, but she could still hear his ragged breathing.

“What was this?” she urged him, close to a hiccup. “Was there somebody coming? ‘Cause I didn’t hear them!”

“I did”, was Stephen’s curt reply.

“Who??”

“Don’t know. – Safer to get out this way.”

“Do you know where we are?”

A long pause. And then: “I will. Eventually.”

The run had changed into a quick walk. Not long after, they were in a murky-smelling corridor again. There was a different odour, as well, becoming ever stronger. It reminded Elena of wet dogs. However, she didn’t pay it too much mind. The scene she had just witnessed in the crypt was coming back to her.

“Was that what you wanted me to see?” she asked.

“Obviously”, he replied, but his voice was calmer now.

“So they’re using a medium to make their plans?”

“That much should be clear to you.” He was back to irritated and reminded her a little of Severus in this.

“What plans?”

“They want power”, was the simple answer.

Elena’s head was swimming. In her mind, she went through all the things she had heard. Dragon blood … Mars crossing Uranus … the grand strike … cut of the king’s head. How could anyone make head or tail of all this? Then there was the ‘servant of Saturn’ thing. With regard to this, at least, she was quite sure that the medium’s word had referred to Severus Snape. After all, the was a Capricorn; and he had, in a way, risen from the dead not so long ago. Was it really him that Crowley and his Anubis gang perceived as a threat? It would explain why he had been dragged in front of the Wizengamot, probably with the help of Ansgard Periwinkle, to make his life difficult, to warn him from interfering. Why, this might also have been the reason for the hellhound attack! Hadn’t the masked guys warned him, told him not to stick his nose into things? She’d been too busy panicking because of the hounds, but she thought she remembered something like this …

And thinking of dogs … the smell was so strong now that it could hardly be ignored. And in that moment, she saw something in the weak pool of her Lumos. Straw on the ground, and a kind of heap. When Elena shone her light on it, she could clearly identify it as a turd.

“Look at this!” she cried excitedly.

Stephen didn’t look too surprised. “They keep them down here during the day. Their eyes are very sensitive and can’t handle daylight.”

“The hellhounds?” she whispered and fear welled up in her. She remembered the beasts clearly now. Their scent, their anger, and how they had wanted to bite her, rip her apart …

“Don’t worry”, Stephen said coolly, “they aren’t here right now.”

“How can you be sure?” she scoffed, wild-eyed.

“I am”, he said and the curt reply had such authority that again she found that she believed him and calmed down again.

“So it’s true? Crowley’s behind them? And the satyrs, too?”

“Yeah. But you already knew this, didn’t you?” He gave her a sly look.

Elena didn’t quite know what to say.

“Don’t think you can prove it, though. Crowley would never let anyone see them. I doubt they’re even here.”

“Stephen – how do you know all this??”

A sly smile, but as always when he didn’t want to show his cards, he said nothing.

Elena decided on a different course to rattle him. “One of the men in the crypt was your father”, she said factually, not allowing for denial.

Stephen didn’t contradict her, merely shrugged.

“So he’s one of them? The Anubis guys?”

Again, no reply, but this time she didn’t let him get his way.

“Why does he do this? He’s a Ministry official, for God’s sake! And a respected one, too! Why would he get in with Crowley and his occult jackal bunch? He’s not that kind of man!”

“No, he isn’t”, Stephen agreed. “And my father isn’t a bad sort, either. He just made … a few bad decisions.”

“So I was right! He’s under some kind of pressure!”

“He’s a victim”, Stephen said curtly.

“A victim who can do a lot of harm!”

“Anyone can do that. – I think we have to go up here now.”

Stairs branched off on the left.

“You _think_?”

“That’s as good as it gets”, he informed her in his usual dead-pan manner, leaving Elena once more lost for words.

As they walked up, however, she just had to start again, and in a rather plaintive voice this time. “Stephen, you _have_ to tell me more now you dragged me into this! Like, how come you know all these things, and how can you …”

“Better don’t talk know”, he commanded. “I don’t know what’s upstairs. We could be heard.”

It didn’t sound too reassuring, so Elena clamped her mouth shut and as Stephen was taking the lead once more, she followed him meekly. After all, she would be lost without him …

 

* * *

 

On the top of the stairs, they found another door. It was easy to open and on the other side of it, they found a long and wide corridor with rows of identical doors on either side. The corridor was very clean, well lighted by floating candles, had a marble floor and lay in utter darkness. Elena had seen this corridor before.

“This is Abrasax Manor”, she said with a note of surprise in her voice.

“I know”, said Stephen.

When Elena turned to him, she saw him frown. It was obvious that he hadn’t expected this.

“I have been here before”, Elena said, trying to sound confident, “I’ll find my way around.”

The frown on Stephen’s forehead deepened. She could just about imagine why. Nevertheless, and since they had no choice anyway, they marched on, down along the corridor.

Soon enough, they arrived in a large hall with grand staircases diverging in all four directions. However, Elena was pretty sure that it wasn’t the entrance hall in which she had stood with Cassie on their visit to this house when Magrathea Crowley had invited them, most of all because there was no exit door. Every staircase was guarded by a shiny coat of armour and she had the distinct feeling that hidden eyes were watching her and Stephen as they crossed the hall. Paranoia again.

“Should we go upstairs?” she suggested, far less confident than before.

He shook his head. “Better stay on the same level.”

They walked on, found another door on the other side of the hall and entered another wide, elegant corridor with the same flight of doors on either side. Although they tried to walk as quietly as possible, their steps made discrete noises. Luckily, nobody appeared to be about, not even a house elf.

“Everyone is back at Abrasax House watching the ballet”, Stephen said unnecessarily. It told Elena that he, too, was quite nervous now because superfluous statements weren’t usually his style. “We should get back before it ends.”

“Sure”, she murmured and sighed. Then she decided that she had to tell Stephen, as much as she hated it. “You know”, she started, “when I first came here, Madam Crowley said that this manor is a little … quirky.”

Stephen nodded. “Sentient”, he said.

“We need to find a place that I know. The entrance hall or Magrathea’s conservatory. From there, I can find my way back.”

“Can you?” Stephen sounded sarcastic. The frown was still there.

By the end of the corridor, there was yet another hall, yet more sets of stairs and coats of armour, but no sign of an exit. Everything was quiet, almost ghostly so. Stephen and Elena exchanged looks and then, in silent agreement, took one of the staircases. On top, there was a red-carpeted gallery hung with portraits of smiling, scowling and yawning wizards that, however, didn’t seem to be very interested in them. Only one of the portrait people – a woman dressed in scarlet – grinned at them wickedly and then shook her head, as if at utter stupidity. Then came a corridor again, and it looked exactly like the ones they had passed below. There was a difference, however. In the middle of the wide corridor, another one, far narrower, branched off, and by the end of it, there was a low door painted in blood-red.

“I’ve seen this before!” Elena whispered excitedly. “Magrathea said it leads down to the crypt, maybe we can find our way …” She had already started to walk confidently towards the blood-red door – sinister though it looked – but suddenly, she felt Stephen’s fingers around her wrist, clamping down.

“NO!” he commanded, and his eyes were wide with fear. “Not in there! That’s not good, that’s not good at all!”

“Why??” She stared at him.

“A trap”, coughed Stephen, suddenly out of breath, “it might be a trap!”

The fear in his face gave Elena a shock. The thought crossed her mind that maybe he knew something about that door. “What is it, Stephen? Tell me!”

“This door is bad”, he said irrationally.

“A _door_ can’t be bad, Stephen. And we need to get back _somehow_!”

“Not through this door!” he insisted doggedly. Elena looked at his hand on her wrist. The knuckles came out white and she felt that he was shaking. His anxious state infected her, she felt it clearly now, she was almost shaking herself.

“Alright”, she sighed. “I suggest we just walk back. Down into the cellars and then return to the crypt. We might find another exit from there that takes us back to Abrasax House.”

Stephen nodded, but looked glum.

They re-entered the wide corridor. Retraced their steps. However, when they came to its end, there was no gallery, but a large iron door. The feeling of ill foreboding turned into a painful knot in Elena’s stomach.

With a quiet “ _Alohomora_ ”, Stephen opened the iron door.

What lay beyond was worrying, but not exactly a surprise.

No gallery, but another large hall, with sets of stairs diverging into all four directions, coats of armour guarding the bottom of the staircases and candles floating around innocently.

Elena and Stephen stood very still, looked around. Elena imagined hearing a snigger – coming from one of the coats of armour, maybe? However, she told herself that she was imagining it. She _had_ to tell herself that. Everything else was just too scary.

They remained rooted to the spot, like marble statues, for quite a while.

Then, finally, Stephen dared to say what both of them had been thinking for the past few minutes.

“The house is playing a trick on us. – We’re lost.”

 


	33. Who Let The Dogs Out?

**Who Let The Dogs Out?**

 

Many a yard away, in the blue salon of Abrasax House, the elven ballet came to a dramatic close in the shape of an elf pyramid, swiftly and elegantly constructed with feather-light hops and eliciting gasps from the spectators. The music, too, exhaled it’s final crescendo to make space for enthusiastic applause. There were cries of ‘Bravo’ and whistles.

Severus Snape allowed himself to stretch in his seat with a generous yawn. He thought that the gesture was quite fitting for his guise of Draco Malfoy who would certainly not have been too impressed by the spectacle he had just witnessed; an arrogant sneer was quite in order here, and it helped Severus deal with his exhaustion. It also masked his worry. Elena hadn’t come back and when he looked around in the room where the lights gradually went on, he could find no trace of her.

Beside him sat Cassandra Cleary, the colour of her dress changed to cherry red and that of her hair several tones lighter. Her face, however, looked glum.

“She’s still out there”, she said, fixing him with her eyes like a basilisk as if he was to blame. Snape realized that she didn’t like Draco Malfoy very much.

“Shrewd observation”, he replied in the hoarse voice he’d adopted for the evening.

“Don’t be an ass”, Cassie said edgily, “I’m worried!”

He gave her a long look. “So am I.”

“What should we do, then?”

Snape jolted himself into action. “First, get out of here.” Cassie gasped as he grasped her hand and drew her with him through the crowds that were slowly getting up from their seats, stretching legs and backs and soon forming irregular knots of bodies between the rows of chairs. “We need to stay out of the Crowley’s way”, he murmured to her, “lest they notice that you’re not her and she’s gone off.”

“Yeah, relax, I know what this is about. She’s been drilling it into me for days.” Despite the impatience in her voice, she came along with him docilely.

“Did she also instruct you on a back-up plan?”

“Um … no …”

He sighed. “Didn’t think so.”

“Um … Draco.”

He almost didn’t react to the name and remembered only at the last second. “What is it?”

“What’s wrong with your eyes?”

He groaned inwardly. He needed a sip from his flask. Now.

“It’s that damn flu. The potion I’m taking to keep it at bay …”

“What _kind_ of potion?” Cassie had stopped and the look she gave him was distrustful and shrewd at the same time. “’Cause all the flu potions that _I_ know wouldn’t make your eyes look that funny!”

Of course. She was a herbologist and right now probably going through all the options in her mind. He was looking for an apt reply, but it was in this moment that his wand, stowed away in his breast pocket, started to vibrate. The alert signal. To be used only when Elena got into trouble.

“What? Is your potion giving you the shakes, too?” The sarcasm in Cassie’s voice added to the situation and Severus was close to loosing his temper.

“I have to take off!” he hissed at her. “She’s run into trouble. You’ll have to look after yourself. Don’t …”

He stopped short. Only by Cassie’s shocked stare did he realize that he had spoken in his ‘normal’ Severus Snape voice. He stared back.

“Well. At least you can figure out the potion now”, he said ironically.

“Prof …”

“Shshsh!”

“Geez!!” There was no end to the expressions that crossed Cassie’s face. Within a few seconds, she was realizing all kinds of things.

“Spare me your surprise”, he murmured darkly, “you have a part to act now.”

“At least …” Cassie started, then shut her mouth. “Do you know what to _do_?”

“Of course I have a plan!” He was almost offended by the suggestion that he didn’t.

“Good! ‘Cause, you know, Draco might not …”

“I need you to do your thing now.” His fingers clamped over her hand. “Mingle. But don’t linger. Let yourself be seen, but …”

“… don’t engage”, Cassie finished. “Like I said, she drilled it into me …”

“On your way then!”

“Can’t I …”

“No!!” He bestowed one of his darkest scowls on her. It worked, in spite of his disguise. The mere knowledge that he was Severus Snape, not Draco Malfoy, appeared to reawaken all her dormant fears of him and suddenly she stared at him like a frightened schoolgirl. “All right, all right”, she piped.

“Tell … my _mother_ … I’m not feeling too good.”

“Your … oh, I get it! Sure!”

And with that, he left her standing to press through the crowds and almost forgot to bestow the self-assured Malfoy smile on anyone he met. To his surprise, most people made way for him, or rather, for Draco. Snape was quite used to folks jumping out of his way, but with fear. In his present guise, they did it with stricken faces, too – no doubt aware of Draco’s ill-fated Death Eater past – but also a marked element of fascination. Had he not been so worried about Elena, he might have mused a little on this experience of being the young Malfoy heir. It had been quite extraordinary so far, especially the reaction of the women. Never before had Snape seen so many secretly seductive smiles directed at his person. He made an effort to return a cool grin at the shy looks of adoration while his mind was on getting away.

“Oi, Draco!”

He stopped in his tracks, turned with an ill feeling.

In the same moment, he recognized Millicent Bulstrode, determinedly making her way towards him, shoving away anyone blocking her path. Again, Snape bit down on a groan, but forced himself to sneer in as friendly a manner as he could. After all, this was an old schoolmate of ‘his’.

“Hello there, Millicent.” It was hard to sound sufficiently bright and pleased; it wasn’t really in his nature. “What are you doing here?”

“What d’ya think? Having a look at this shithole, of course. They’re making quite a grand affair out of this school, aren’t they?”

He grinned noncommittally. “No doubt, the Crowleys consider themselves to be grand.”

Millicent puffed. “Yeah. Like … I’m _so_ impressed. – What’s up with you then?” A speculative stare; no doubt she’d been wondering about him, her ex-classmate who’d has such a peculiar career in the Death Eater’s ranks. “Your voice sounds funny!”

“Cold”, he croaked, “sore throat.”

Again, she scrutinized him with an ugly frowning face. “Yeah. You look sick. But still can dance, can’t you!? Is that Mudblood witch really your _girlfriend_?”

He murmured a little to play it down and at the same time tried to swallow his rising bile caused by the Mudblood comment. Part of him wanted to strike Millicent on Elena’s behalf. However, it wouldn’t have served anyone.

“Don’t deny it!” Millicent went on without waiting for his answer. “I saw you smooch! – But I guess you boys need an old bike to learn the moves on …” She shook her head, both indignantly and indulgently. “She _is_ quite a bit older than you, isn’t she?”

“Older women like me”, Snape said arrogantly, remembering what Draco had once told him.

“Well, if you say so. Can she sex-hex you to oblivion, at least?” She grinned, an epitome of insensitivity.

Snape had no idea what to say. Still, striking her was the best option that occurred to him, but he couldn’t possibly do it. So he merely growled a lame, “Well, you know …”

“I can imagine.” A pronounced leer. “I don’t even want to know about the things you get up to in your swank Chelsea flat! – Yeah, I know about it. Met Blaise recently. He told me everything about it. He also said, by the way, that you’re behaving like a total cad towards Astoria Greengrass.”

This was Millicent Bulstrode. Never mincing words. Horrible Potions student, though. Once more, Snape didn’t know how to reply and feverishly tried to prepare his exit. “Well, if you excuse me, I have to …” He fidgeted.

“Tinkle? – Why, say so! I’ll never get it how you fine folks can be so squeamish about things like that!”

He then decided not to be squeamish at all but gave her a curt nod, turned on his heel and with a huge sigh made his way forth through the crowd. She hollered after him, something about ‘catching up later’. Not if he could avoid it.

Snape made it out into the large hall where the reception had taken place. Not too many people lingered around now as most of them were still in the blue salon. Yet, this would change in a few seconds and there were still too many for his taste, and so Severus swiftly took the carpeted steps up to the gallery to find a dark corner where he could, without disturbance, treat himself to a large sip from his flask. It had become considerably lighter during the course of the evening. The Polyjuice potion was running out.

Snape felt a tingling on his face and in his bones, as well, telling him that the first changes towards his true self were being reversed. With this worry removed, at least, he could turn his mind on what to do next.

He would not have been Severus Snape if he had come to this event entirely unprepared. The problem was where to start. He had no idea where to find Elena, where that Periwinkle boy had taken her to. All he had was a vibrating wand, right now, again, in his breast pocket, and with it the hair on his body stood on edge, his worry became a hard knot in his stomach. Staying in his dark corner for a little while longer, he rested his head against the wall, forced himself to think coolly and rationally. At least he could safely assume that she was still somewhere on the premises. However, those were rather large and finding her was a bit like looking for a needle in a haystack. Which was exactly what he intended to do. Severus decided that this was a good point to put a vital part of his back-up plan into action.

He rummaged in the pocket of the well-tailored coat, a loan from Draco who he had visited only two evenings ago, to explain about what he was planning and also to procure some of the boy’s hair for the Polyjuice potion. This afternoon, he had put a simple Engorging spell on the coat pocket. Now he carefully brought out a large bundle of a peculiarly iridescent fabric. It rustled as he unfolded and slipped under it. In the next moment, his physical presence – so carefully restored just a moment ago – had vanished. He was now free to roam about, unseen, and was a little angry with himself that he had probably wasted that latest sip from his flask in the heat of the moment.

Hadn’t Severus been so focussed on his irritation and with conceiving a plan on how to find Elena, maybe he would have allowed himself to muse on how he’d come into possession of Harry Potter’s Invisibility Cloak. The memory might even have amused him, although he had found it distinctly humiliating at the time.

Expecting that Abrasax grounds would be heavily guarded and monitored on this occasion, he had deemed it a good idea to at least have the possibility of becoming invisible at some point. Of course, there were potions to achieve this and, of course, he knew how to make them. However, most of them had a tendency of reacting with Polyjuice Potion, in ways that were extremely difficult to foresee or control. He’d been hesitant to take that risk and so, after long deliberation, Snape had decided to pay Harry Potter a visit.

That he’d taken this step at all was a measure of his worry for Elena, of his increasing doubts that she was rushing into an adventure without sufficient planning. As far as he was concerned, he was quite happy to limit all contact with the boy to the absolutely necessary. That he was Lily’s son didn’t make things any better in his mind. After all, he’d paid enough tribute to this fact – with his life, in fact – and the other part of Harry’s genes still stemmed from James Potter, and even after the war Severus had no reconciliatory feelings towards the man.

Hence, the evening before, Snape had walked into the Weasley’s home with gritted teeth, studiously ignoring the peculiar stares from all around, and had impetuously demanded from Molly that she fetch Harry as he had ‘a matter of utmost importance to discuss with him – and in private, if you please.’ The boy had made him wait for a whole ten minutes which hadn’t disposed Snape any more kindly. When he’d finally appeared, looking sleepy and hair sticking up more than usual, he had merely raised an eyebrow.

“Professor Snape? What an honour.”

Severus had ignored the note of sarcasm. “Mr Potter. How good of you to _receive_ me.”

However, the boy had clearly developed. He didn’t react quite as emotionally to suggestions of arrogance anymore. “That’s alright. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“In fact you can.” Snape had made a long pause then, thinking about how he should begin. “Mr Potter. Would you say that you owe me something?”

The large green eyes – Lily’s eyes, as Snape hadn’t been able to help noticing yet again (it was a real bother that the boy had those and thus provided an eternal reminder of his, Snape’s, failure) – had widened. “Um … no. – I’d say we’re even.”

Severus hadn’t expected that answer and it had thrown him off. “Glad to see you’ve inherited your father’s self-confidence”, he’d growled.

“Have I now? Are you sure it’s not my mother’s?” A small cattish grin, very much like Lily’s indeed. It had made Snape swear inwardly.

“But hey”, Harry had gone on casually, “even or not, I’d still do you a favour if you ask nicely, so …?”

Snape’s only reply had been a sarcastic sneer. “You want to make me beg you, then.”

“A common ‘please’ will do.”

Gritting his teeth once more, Severus had then come out with his request. A loan of the Invisibility Cloak, just for one night. He would be sure to bring it back the next morning. Of course, he had completely dropped the ‘please’.

Harry had given him a thoughtful look. “What d’you want with it?”

“Become invisible, preferably.”

Harry had frowned. “It’s pretty valuable. I’ll have to know a little more.”

“It’s extended Order business”, Snape had snarled.

“I _am_ a member of the Order”, Harry had reminded him unnecessarily. “Lupin told me that it’s to be … reinstalled.”

“Of course”, Snape had said with a bored sigh.

“So. What d’you need it for?”

“I need it as a safeguard. To be used in case of difficulties that hopefully won’t come to pass. – What, are you afraid your father might turn in his grave?” An amusing thought, come to think of it.

“He might indeed”, Harry had said, again with unnerving calmness, “but I’m sure my mother’d tell him to snap out of it.”

Again with the allusions to Lily. Snape knew exactly what the boy wanted to achieve by it. Get him to talk about olden times. Revisit the past, ‘work through it’ as Muggles liked to call it. It had made him want to blow a fuse, but he had exerted his famed iron control, remained calm while wincing. “So?”

Harry had clearly enjoyed the situation, had made a show fidgeting a little, frowned some more and eventually said, “Well, alright. If you promise to bring it back the next day …”

“Haven’t I already said that??”

“Just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.”

Once more taking his time, Harry had left the room. Again, Severus had been doomed to wait, feeling like a damn supplicant. He was completely sure the young man behaved like this on purpose with the sole intention of unnerving him. However, he had soon come back and given him the cloak, had even wished him luck with it.

“It really feels a bit odd”, he’d said.

“What does?”

“Giving this to _you_ of all people.”

“It’s in competent hands, I can assure you, Mr Potter.”

“I know. It’s just … to be honest, I haven’t quite gotten used to not think of you as the enemy.” In that moment, Harry given him a child-like, forlorn look.

“Think of me in whatever way you like, Mr Potter. As long as you don’t expect me to become nostalgic about the past …”

“No”, Harry had said quickly and with a sarcastic look, “I’m very much aware you’d rather cut off your wand arm.”

“I would indeed.” Not looking at the boy, Snape had inspected the Cloak, handling it as carefully as he would have done with any valuable magical object, no matter who its proprietor was.

“There’s one thing I’d really like to know, though.”

Severus had looked up to find Harry staring at him calculatingly.

“Shoot, then”, he’d said with marked irritation in his voice, “I guess I have to pay for this somehow.”

“Back at Hogwarts”, Harry had started, suddenly meek again, “did you really bully me because you hated me? Or was it just … you know … to keep up your image of the unpleasant guy that might still be a Death Eater?”

It was a perspicacious question. Probably Harry himself did not know how close to the core he’d been with it and Snape had had not intention of letting him know.

“I _am_ an unpleasant guy”, he’d replied harshly. “Also, as you should know, I bully everyone. I guess I enjoy it.”

Harry had returned a look of shock. “I don’t believe you!” he’d said emphatically.

“I see.” Severus had given him a crooked grin. “You’d prefer to believe that I’m really a nice person. Somehow. _Deep down_.” The sarcasm had dripped from his words. “I’m sorry having to disappoint you.”

However, Harry had shot back as quick as a whip. “So my mother was wrong about you? And about the good that she saw in you?”

It had shook Snape more than Harry could have known. However, he hadn’t let it on and just tilted his head slightly. “Do as she did, Mr Potter. Judge by yourself.” And he had turned on his heel.

“I do”, Harry had said to his back, his voice firm, “and I think that you enjoy playing the complicated one.”

“Why would I do that, Mr Potter?” Snape had snarled without looking at him.

“We all have our ways of getting attention.”

“As you should know. – A good night to you now. And thank you for the loan.”

With that, he’d left the Weasley sitting room, cloak fluttering.

As it was, Severus had no time to think about this little episode while standing on the gallery, donning the cloak and racking his brain about what to do next. Slowly, he emerged from his dark corner and quietly walked alongside the bannister, peering down into the hall where more and more happily chatting guests appeared to be served more punch by bowing house elves. He watched the people, saw their mouths opening and closing, then quietly muttered “ _Legilimens_ ”. However, whatever thoughts and images wafted up at Severus were vague, hardly intelligible, a jumble really. He was too far away. Reading minds had a lot to do with physical closeness.

He heard steps then, right behind him. His first instinct was to retreat into a dark corner, but he remembered in time that he was invisible now and just needed to make way, as people could of course still bump into him. It was a house elf that walked by, carrying a small tray with a steaming cup on it. Following an instinct, Snape directed the _Legilimens_ at the small creature. Reading elves was tricky, but he’d had enough practice doing it since Gilly had come to live in his house.

_‘Careful now … don’t put Mylady off … she’s in one of her moods … hope she doesn’t throw that cup again …’_

Severus raised his brows and followed the house elf with his eyes. If he wasn’t quite mistaken, the little servant was taking this cup to Madam Crowley. This was interesting because he would have assumed that she was still downstairs with her husband, representing and playing the grand lady. Obviously not. But why?

He glided closely behind the house elf, his steps soundless. From the gallery, the small creature led Snape into a corridor lighted by floating candles and closed doors on either side. When they arrived at the last door, the elf stopped, visibly took a deep breath and knocked.

“Madam”, it squeaked, “I have your tea. Steeped exactly seven minutes and seven seconds, as you like it.”

There was a pause. Then, from inside, an imperious voice called “Come in!”

The house elf followed, leaving the door a crack open, and Snape slipped in.

It was another salon, but a small one, furnished with squashy armchairs and a large chaise lounge. A fire was crackling in a corner, and there stood Magrathea Crowley in her splendid dress, the pearls in her black hair gleaming with the reflection of the flames. She stood beside a well-polished coat of armour.

“Put it down and be gone!” The lady commanded harshly. “As you can see, I’m busy!”

The house elf did as told and scurried off, while Snape stayed behind, observing Magrathea standing close to the coat of armour. He realized that she was holding its metal hand. It seemed like a totally irrational thing to do, holding the hand of a battle dress. However, as soon as her servant was gone and its steps could no longer be heard, she turned to it and started to murmur. With a jolt, Snape realized that she was in the middle of a hex. Words in Latin poured off her lips and he could see how fiercely she held the hand of the warrior shell.

This was interesting. He watched with held breath, trying to figure out what she was doing. As she spoke quietly, he had to come closer to hear every word of her incantation, in fact he had to come to close that he could almost touch her and had to be careful not to literally breath down her neck. After a few more moments of listening, however, he was quite sure about what she was doing and he couldn’t help the utter fascination welling up inside him.

The last few days, he had been busy preparing for this occasion. The idea to take on the appearance of Draco Malfoy had come to him spontaneously one night, and he had liked it right away, was actually chuffed with himself that he’d conceived of it because of the opportunity it would give him to cover Elena’s back, to be there should anything happen. It had, of course, taken some preparation. Obtaining Draco’s hair and Harry Potter’s Invisibility Cloak as well as enlisting Narcissa’s help had been the easy part.

Another essential part had been informing himself on the place that he would venture to. However, as he had found out, any facts on Abrasax Manor, House and grounds were not as openly available as he would have expected. Obviously, someone had taken great care to restrict them. Only in a very old book on English wizarding homes had he read, at least, that Abrasax Manor was considered a sentient house, not unlike Hogwarts; but whereas Hogwarts was more like a ‘free agent’, generally doing as it pleased if it did anything, Abrasax Manor appeared to answer to its masters. He was pretty sure that this was what was going on right now. Magrathea was talking to her Manor; the way in which she conversed with something that was essentially a piece of furniture or decoration suggested this. Also, by quickly translating the Latin words in his mind, he became convinced that she was asking the house to entrap someone. And he would be damned if this wasn’t Elena and her peculiar companion, the young Mr Periwinkle!

Snape remained glued to the spot for a while longer, watching Magrathea as she murmured to the coat of armour, broke into a mesmerizing sing-song, all the while holding the metal hand. After a while, she stopped, turned to the cup of tea the house-elf had just brought, took a sip, sighed. Whatever she was doing was stressful. In the gleam coming from the fireplace, Severus could see beads on sweat on her forehead. All the same, she resumed her activity soon enough. It became clear to Severus that for her spell the work, she mustn’t break contact, must hold on to her medieval companion.

In other words: if he could find a way to make her break off the contact, Elena wouldn’t be entrapped anymore! Also, it would allow him to venture to Abrasax Manor without getting caught up in it himself. The problem was how. Merely creating a small commotion would only throw her off for a little while before taking care of it and resuming her incantation. He could neither just grab her and throw her out of the window – she was too strong and smart a witch for that, he could sense it, and she might get hold of his Invisibility Cloak and tear it off him. No, he needed a smarter and more subtle plan. As of yet, he had none.

Racking his brain, he left the salon. It was tricky because the house elf had closed the door upon its exit; however, Snape’s quiet _Alohomoras_ were legend and Magrathea was too invested in her hex to notice.

Safely out of the room, Snape hurried down the corridor, back to the gallery. The only thing that made sense right now was to get to Abrasax Manor in the hopes that something would occur to him on the way.

The hall had filled again; it was, in fact, packed with guests. A wave of drunken laughter assaulted his ears. It was difficult in his invisible state to make his way to the entrance, careful to not let anyone bump into him. Slipping out of the House, however, was easy. Sure enough, there were guards posted at the large door – wizards in hoods, ominously reminiscent of Death Eaters – but they were probably just amateurs, teachers of the establishment and not prepared for anyone of the guests turning invisible.

Soon, he was out on the grounds, inhaling cold winter air. It had started to snow again, quite hard and at a slanted angle which made it difficult for Snape to get orientation. Where might Abrasax Manor be? Nowhere in his readings about the place had he been able to find a map of the grounds and thus he had no concept of their layout. The advantage of this ghastly weather, however, was that any traces his steps might leave in the snow would be obliterated soon enough.

He passed a cemetery, the one that Elena had told him about. It was empty, expect for the tombstones and held no interest for Snape, so he hurried past it. He imagined discerning a hill on its other side. It might give him a good vantage point to oversee the premises and find the manor. He was eager to get there and the snow was blowing hard into his invisible face, so it was only out of the corners of his eyes that he caught a movement inside the walls of the cemetery. It made him stop. Curiously, he narrowed his eyes. He could have sworn that the graveyard had been empty only a moment ago. Now, suddenly, he beheld two vague figures. Elena and Stephen? But no, their shapes weren’t right, because in spite of the cloaks he could see that one of the figures was rather burly and certainly neither Elena nor Stephen qualified as that. But where had those people in the cemetery suddenly come from? As he was still asking himself that, another one suddenly popped up. Not ‘popped up’ as in ‘Apparated’ – Severus knew very well that there was an Apparition ban on the premises – but literally as in ‘shot out of the ground’.

He hurried closer to the low wall, narrowed his eyes again. The now three figures conversed unintelligibly, then there was some fiddling with one of the tombstones. Severus understood then. There wasn’t really a grave under that stone, but probably some passage. Might it lead him into Abrasax Manor? An instinct told him that this was exactly where these figures – that now made their way towards the House again – had come from.

After a short deliberation, however, he decided against it. He wanted to get to the manor, yes, but not right into it. It might entrap him and he would be of no help to Elena. However, if there really was an underground passage, the way it lay might give him an idea in which direction to go above ground, a much better idea, in fact, than climbing up a hill and trying to make out the grounds in this weather.

As he had no time to find the gate of the cemetery, he climbed over the wall. The trampled-down snow gave him a good indication from which grave the three cloaked figures had come. A fresh layer of downy flakes was already settling on the tombstone and Snape had to sweep it away to see the inscription.

 

_Magrathea Cuffe_

_*13.04.1953, + 11.11.1956_

_Eternal love arrests death_

 

He frowned at the name as well as at the date, let alone the epitaph. However, he had no time to wonder and started fiddling with the stone. It came off easily enough, and as he had surmised, steps led down into a darkness against which the falling flakes gleamed peculiarly. Without hesitation and reminding himself that he was invisible, Severus took the steps, casting a _Lumos_. The passage he found on the bottom of the steps appeared, thankfully, to be quite straight. Of course, it might bend later. However, he would take his chances, seeing as the layout pointed in the direction of the hill that he had targeted at first. It made sense to Snape that Abrasax Manor would be located on the other side of it, hidden away from view to the visitors of Abrasax House and the Crowley Academy. He went up the steps again and with flying hands rearranged the tombstone before he ran off, now panting heavily as time was running out and he was very much on edge.

He _had_ to find the manor. However, what he found on the other side of the hill and after marching with chattering teeth through a small patch of woods was nothing but a ruin of a house. It was cordoned off with a rusty chain that looked entirely Mugglish, and off the chain dangled a sign saying _Keep Out. Danger of Collapse._ There was no way this could be Abrasax Manor. Or could it? Hadn’t Elena told him – after her first visit to the place – that Abrasax Manor was protected by a spell that would keep Muggles out, but didn’t work for wizarding eyes? But what if the spell had changed to make it appear like a ruin to wizards, too?

Snape approached the damaged building. It looked like a bomb had been dropped into it, maybe during the war (that being the last Muggle war, not the wizarding one). The roof had obviously collapsed, the windows were smashed and in the dark and snow it looked like something that no person in their right mind would willingly have entered. Severus walked around it in a large circle, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of life, any presence. However, the broken windows appeared completely dark, not a gleam of light. He started to doubt that he was on the right track and suddenly, he felt desperation welling up in the pit of his stomach. This was exacerbated by the fact that inside his breast pocket, once more, his wand started to vibrate. It was unfortunate that the force of the vibration didn’t tell him whether he was close. At least, he thought, this meant that she was still alive …

Suddenly, there was a strange noise.

He turned, believing that he had imagined it.

It came back, but still he couldn’t place it, it wasn’t very loud, half drowned-out by the blowing wind. Moreover, it was hard to tell whence it came. Then, he discerned the shape of a wooden shed in the snow storm. Was that the source?

In fact, as he came closer, the noise grew louder. It was a growl. Or rather: several growls. As in dogs.

Immediately, he thought of the rabid hounds and closed his fingers more tightly around his wand as he approached the shed. Could it really be that the hellhounds were to be found here, on the premises? Wasn’t that way too easy and negligent as that?

Bracing himself, Severus unhinged the door of the shed and a challenging bark answered, followed by other barks and growls. His heart raced. He remembered how those hellhounds had scared him, how close they had come to ripping him and Elena apart. He gathered all his magical powers to be prepared for what came next. Already, he could smell them, and no doubt they were able to smell him, because the barks became fiercer, sounded irritated. Carefully, he peered around a wooden barrier, only to exhale in relief the next moment.

Yes, there were dogs, and they growled. But they were regular dogs with elegant heads; although not exactly small, they had a slim build. Hunting dogs, if he wasn’t wrong, and this was their kennel. The lead dog was clearly angry, demanding yet again who he was, what he wanted and to show himself in short aggressive yaps.

Severus didn’t like dogs very much – there had been one Padfoot to many in his life – but his relief made him issue a few murmurs that could be interpreted as soothing. After all, compared to the hellhounds, these guys were harmless, their sight almost pleasing. He came closer to the grilled door that kept the animals in their space. They put their snouts through the gaps, trying to sniff him all the more adamantly as they were not able to see him. Snape inspected the shed, saw a small oven that was intended to give the beasts some warmth, the clean heaps of straw that had been generously spread to provide them with comfort, the bowls of food and water, the leashes hanging from nails in a wooden pillar. It occurred to him that the fact that the dogs were so carefully accommodated here must mean that the ruin outside was in fact Abrasax Manor. What sense would it make otherwise to keep them here? And maybe, Aeneas Crowley liked to spend his free time hunting in the woods …

Then, all of a sudden, he had an idea.

It made him inhale sharply because he didn’t trust it as he conceived of it, particularly the genius of it. He thought it through, considered all the steps putting it into action would require, then couldn’t help chuckling. It might work! In fact, it might solve a few problems in one fell swoop and – and this aspect he liked best – put him in a position to feed the Crowleys a bit of their own medicine …

When it came to magical creatures, Severus Snape wasn’t exactly an expert. He would never have admitted it to anyone, but in fact he had huge respect of some of them, respect bordering on fear. Hippogriffs particularly he disliked, as he had had some non-too-pleasant experiences with them in the past. And of course, there had been the hellhounds.

However, these were just regular dogs and his magical prowess was more than enough to handle them. If truth be told, unlike cats dogs were quite stupid when it came too magic. They didn’t understand it and were easily manipulated by it.

As a result, he had no trouble putting the leashes on them and leading them out of their kennels. He put a spell on them to subdue them and they came with him like lambs. The lead dog still made a little bit of a noise, constantly asking the invisible human presence what it wanted and what it would do to him and his mates. Snape magically put the thought of very good food into its mind, which silenced the beast and made it cooperate. To be sure, however, Snape put a _Muffliato_ around himself and the animals as he made to hurry back through the snowy woods and towards Abrasax House.

The tricky part would be to find a back entrance to the Crowley Academy without being detected because he couldn’t very well put all the dogs – there were eight of them – under the Invisibility Cloak. As he approached the House, though, he found that due to the advanced hour, security measures had slackened and there were not as many patrolling wizards about as before. Severus thought that it was quite probable Magrathea had commanded them to venture to Abrasax Manor in search for Elena and Stephen. So he had to be quick.

He found the back entrance which was close to the cemetery. From inside, music and laughter could be heard. He grinned evilly. Very soon, the merriment would come to a very abrupt end …

With a muttered incantation, he gathered the dogs around him. They sat on their hindquarters expectantly, panting and asking were the good food was that he had promised them. Snape directed their attention at the house. Their heads turned, they started to sniff eagerly and one after the other they trotted towards the building.

Severus let go of the leashes. With a muffled thud, they fell into the snow, only to be dragged away by the dogs that moved towards the entrance. Snape took a few steps back, gripped his wand and pointed it at the dogs as he concentrated hard and sang out a forceful incantation.

The Transfiguration was instant.

The bodies of the hunting dogs swelled, their heads changed and their fangs grew. Even the noises they made changed, becoming angry growls, not hunting dog growls, but evil hellhound ones. And a moment later, they looked like hellhounds, too, huge, salivating and dangerous.

However, they were only transfigured dogs under his command. Snape pointed his wand at the back door, made it spring open wide. Then again, he directed his magic at the dogs and now with a shouted incantation and a loud “GO!!”, he chased them inside, commanding them to look for the food. They didn’t hesitate, went in like lightning, with screaming barks that might have ripped anyone’s eardrums.

They looked like hellhounds, but they would not do any harm. Just cause a very splendid commotion, they kind that he’d been looking for.

Severus remained rooted to the spot for a little while longer. It wasn’t long before he heard the shouts and the screams.

Again he smiled maliciously, inwardly congratulating himself. If this didn’t throw Magrathea off her entrapment hex, he didn’t know what would. And sure enough, from inside the building he soon heard a high-pitched wail.

“AENEAS!! GET THE GUARDS!! SAVE THE GUESTS!!”

Snape turned on his heel and ran back, never mind that his feet had almost turned to icicles. He was pleased enough with himself to feel quite warm inside. The way he saw it, he was now free to just walk into Abrasax Manor and get Elena. And the Periwinkle boy, too, if need be …

 


	34. Fifty Shades of Traps

**Fifty Shades of Traps**

 

There was simply no end to the corridors lined with closed doors, always quiet and doused in dim light by endless floating candles, and always ending up in another large hall with sets of stairs diverging in all directions, adorned with carpets, tapestries and coats of armours that appeared to look more sinister each time Elena and Stephen encountered them and at the same time seemed to mock them, to play a cruel joke on them. It was like an interminable odyssey through an elaborate labyrinth in the guise of a stately manor, a home after all, a labyrinth that always led them back to the same place and made them feel like experimental rats that were doomed to forever search for and never find the cheese. They had long ago ceased to speak; the glum feeling in their stomachs didn’t allow for conversation. They walked side by side with stony faces and Elena guessed that Stephen had the same thought that she did: would they ever get out of here? Were they destined to walk these corridors forever and eventually perish of hunger and thirst, or mere exhaustion?

Many times by now Elena had given Severus the alert signal with her wand. It was the only practical thing that she could think of doing. However, she couldn’t escape the thought that he had no way of finding her. She wasn’t even sure that he would get the signal. If this house could trap them so, surely it could withhold their spells from going outside, as well? It was a horrible thought. Already, in her mind, she saw herself and her companion dying a horrible death in this house. And although Stephen was at her side, she had never felt so utterly lonely and isolated in her life before. It was difficult not to panic, not to start wailing and sobbing. And she felt that Stephen, too, was pulling himself together on her behalf because if one of them broke down, the other would, too, and this would be the end of them.

Maybe this was exactly what the house wanted. Destroy them with their own fear, wear them down to the bones, to the bottom of their respective psyches. As a result, she had long ago stopped to see the manor in which they were trapped as a mere house. It was more like an organism, an intelligent and cunning one, more like the belly of a whale that refused to spit them out.

She didn’t know how long they had walked at this point; how many corridors they had passed, only to arrive in the identical large hall again, only to glare at the shiny coats of armour. Her feet, stuffed in dainty shoes, had started to hurt. Her head hurt, too, with fear and frustration.

“Stop”, she said suddenly when they stood in another hall.

Immediately, the young man at her side arrested his steps and looked at her. Was there hope in his eyes? Hope that she had conceived of an idea that would get them out of this? It almost broke her heart that she had to disappoint him.

“I can’t walk anymore”, she murmured and was surprised at the sound of her own voice, how low it was, how any kind of spirit had evaporated from it. She had never heard it like this before. “I guess we might as well just sit down.”

Stephen gave a curt nod. His mouth was a thin line, but he lowered himself on one of the expensive carpets immediately. Maybe he was glad for even this one hopeless diversion.

Elena sat down beside him very slowly, feeling like an old woman with creaking joints. Once more, she touched her wand, gave the alert spell.

“What is it that you’re doing with that?” Stephen asked. His voice, too, had entirely lost its tone and was no more than a hoarse croak.

She told him, explained that it was an alert spell.

“To Severus Snape?” asked Stephen.

The question brought Elena out of her stupor, though only briefly. “How do you know that??” The way she saw it, there was no point in denial anymore.

Stephen shrugged in a forlorn way. “Same way I know everything else. About the crypt. The passwords. And that you’re not really here to study, but to spy.”

Elena considered this. “In the same way you do your ‘assessments’? Are you in any way … I mean, are you some kind of psychic? Someone who _senses_ things?”

“It has nothing to do with sensing”, said Stephen.

“What, then?”

However, Stephen shook his head. “If we ever get out of here, I’ll tell you. Though you could really have guessed by now.”

Elena scoffed. “I afraid I’m not that clever.” In fact, she wasn’t clever at all, or she wouldn’t have gone into this adventure so readily.

“Nor am I”, replied Stephen, obviously having the same thought. “Or we wouldn’t be in this now.”

“Don’t blame yourself”, said Elena, suddenly on the verge of tears that she tried hard to swallow.

The desperation, however, appeared to affect Stephen in a different way than her. Suddenly, he was ready to talk. “I took you with me tonight”, he started and she noticed a tremor in his voice, “because I thought that if I helped you, you might help me.”

“Help you with what?”

“Get out. Of this. The Academy. My family. My life.”

She didn’t quite understand, couldn’t possibly understand; however, it didn’t matter right now.

“Why _are_ you here?” she asked. “At the Academy?”

“Because my father wants me to.”

“Your father wants you to study here?”

Stephen shook his head. “He just does what the Crowleys demand of him. He has no choice. He hates me coming here, but _they_ think that I might be useful.”

“Useful for what?”

“They appeared to think – at first, at least – that I could be used in the same way as that unfortunate girl down there in the crypt.”

“They thought you might be a seer? A kind of prescient? But isn’t that what you are?”

A sneer from Stephen that had the smallest trace of a smile in it. “I’m telling you, it’s much much easier than that. But if they knew the truth …” He broke off and shook his head. “They mustn’t.”

“Why does your father let you come here if he hates it?”

Stephen gave off a huge heaving sigh. “I told you, he has no choice. You guessed quite right.”

“He’s under some kind of redress?”

“I’d call it blackmail”, Stephen’s eyes glittered darkly as he spit out the word.

“They have something on him.” It wasn’t a question but a statement and again Stephen nodded curtly.

He continued to speak only after almost a minute. “As you know, the lady of this house is Barnabas Cuffe’s daughter. The owner of _The Daily Prophet_. You wouldn’t guess it maybe but this is a very powerful position. The man knows _a lot_. Not just news, but dirty secrets, too. _A lot_ of dirty secrets. And his daughter is just as shrewd as he is.”

“Whatever they have on your father, is it really so bad that he would sacrifice his son?” Elena asked in disbelief.

Stephen looked up at her then, scrutinizing her face. “You have no idea how the wizarding world works”, he said. “It is not like your Muggle world where a person’s status doesn’t seem to mean anything anymore …”

“I wouldn’t put it like that!” Elena contradicted him sternly.

“You don’t get what I mean! I wasn’t talking the Muggle world down. Believe me, I _wished_ that we were more like them! That it wouldn’t be possible anymore to completely shame a person, to deny him all respect only because of a bad blunder that he made many years ago. – The truth is, if what these people have on my father got out, he’d be finished. He couldn’t work for the Ministry anymore. He’d be _no one_! And this is something … well, I’m afraid my father couldn’t live with that very well.”

Elena digested all this. “So you have to suffer in his place?” she asked incredulously.

“I don’t _suffer_!” Stephen sounded irritated now. “In fact, I promised him to play along. I want to help him. And Magrathea Crowley and her husband, they can never suss me out, I’m way to clever for them, I’m …”

“Stephen!!”

All of a sudden, Elena jumped to her feet. She had seen something out of the corner of her eyes. A movement. Now she stood upright, staring, unsure of herself. Stephen, too, got to his feet.

“What is it?”

He stared at Elena’s face which was very pale.

“They’re moving”, she whispered, not trusting her own words, suddenly shaking.

“What is??”

Elena pointed across the hall. “The … thingies”, she croaked. She had spontaneously lost her capacity of remembering the more complicated English words.

“What _thingies_??”

Elena swallowed. “The iron men”, she whispered.

Slowly, Stephen looked over his shoulder.

And then he saw it. The coats of armour in the large hall had started to leave their spots and were slowly moving towards them. Not enough with that, as he looked, they were also drawing their swords and raising them at Elena and Stephen. It had happened the moment Stephen had mentioned Magrathea Crowley’s name. Uttering it had triggered something and now they both stood rooted on the carpet on which they had only a moment ago more or less comfortably sat, watching a small army coming to meet them in the most menacing way imaginable.

“We have to get out of here!” Once more, Stephen acted out of character and grabbed Elena by the hand, dragged her towards one of the stairs while blowing a powerful spell at the coat or armour at its bottom. The spell did its work, arrested the iron figure for a few seconds, enough for them to dodge it and run up the steps.

They arrived up on the gallery and from there entered another long corridor, dimly lit, with floating candles and closed doors to either side. However, they already knew what would come at the end of it: another large hall, more carpets and tapestries, more stairs diverging in all four directions. However, here a small army of armoured coats had already collected in the centre of the hall and when Stephen and Elena came rushing in, they turned towards them, metal creaking, and started their slow robotic march in their direction. Now, they were not only trapped by the house, but also by metal phantom warriors with shining sharp swords and the obvious intention of killing them both.

It made no sense to turn back, that much was clear. Trying to run would only present them with the same result, but in another hall, with another troupe of armoured coats. There was only one way to deal with this situation and Elena saw that Stephen was thinking the same as he got a tighter grip on his wand and directed it at the advancing metal demons. The urge to run, though, was hard to resist. Elena didn’t see how they could win against this. Their adversaries had shiny sharp weapons and, as was obvious, magic, too.

She gritted her teeth, tried to stand as solidly as she could with her feet slightly apart and cried “ _Expelliarmus_!” as she took aim.

The spell hit one of their attackers right into its shiny chest. However, whatever force was propelling this battle shell gave no more than a jolt that could really have been a shrug and then marched on, advancing on her and Stephen.

She heard a cry from her companion; it was a spell that she had never heard before. However, it had quite a stunning effect: it appeared to make the metal of the coat burn white hot for a few seconds before it extinguished, leaving the surface of it seriously blemished. However, its owner – or whatever sinister force appeared to be stuck inside the iron shell – couldn’t have cared less. It did sway a little, but only for a few seconds before taking up its slow stubborn progress, sword still securely in its metal hand.

All the stops were pulled out now. With near hysteric shrieks, Elena and Stephen directed jinx after jinx at their silent adversaries. Elena went through the entire catalogue of spells she had learnt from Severus in their fighting lessons in what seemed like less than two minutes. Stephen contributed a more exotic variety, probably jinxes that he had read about in books which was probably the reason why they didn’t always come off so well. When it came to practical fighting experience, Elena was quite clearly his better. However, she had no opportunity to find any joy in this as the coated army came inch after inch closer, more menacing with each step, their swords blinking more and more dangerously in the dim light the floating candles cast. Just how sharp were those knifes? They looked as if they could pierce their skins and bones as easily as a bread knife that went into butter.

Unconsciously, the two unlikely companions had already started to retreat and noticed this only when they stumbled backwards into the lowest step of the next staircase.

“They got us now”, Stephen panted, “HECATE, they’re going to _kill_ us!!” The panic in his voice was ripe.

“Shut it!” Elena hissed, but she, too, saw that it was inevitable.

So this was it. They were going to be slaughtered not by humans, but by animated coats of armour. What a sorry way to go!

However, as they desperately tried to struggle into upright positions again, the band of iron fiends suddenly came to a halt. In the next moment, all life appeared to have gone out of them. The coat of armour that was already looming over Elena had even stopped in mid-step, its right leg hanging ridiculously in the air. Total silence fell, no more creaks, no more clatter of weapons and the only sound to be heard was Elena’s and Stephen’s ragged breathing. For several seconds, none of them dared to speak.

“What is this?” Elena whispered eventually. “Is it over?” She dared hardly hope it and got to her feet, grabbed Stephen’s arm and helped him up.

“Quick”, he commanded, voice as low as he could, “maybe they’ve fallen asleep. Let’s go before they wake up …”

It was hard to believe their good luck, even harder not to be suspicious, but they had to use this chance. Carefully, the started to move around the awkward-looking coats that, once more, seemed more like robots whose plugs had been pulled. Stephen took Elena’s hand firmly, made to draw her away, but in the moment he did so, there was a marked chill in the hall as if somebody had pushed a large invisible door open, and with the icy gust of it, a voice suddenly began to speak. It came from everywhere and nowhere at the same time and its tone was hoarse, to the point where it could hardly be heard.

“Give up”, it demanded. “Whoever you are, stop fighting or you won’t get out of this alive.”

Was it the house’s voice speaking to them? Certainly, that was what they were being made to believe. However, Elena thought that she was able to detect a striking resemblance to Magrathea Crowley’s voice, or rather, Magrathea Crowley with a sore throat. That didn’t change the fact that a spooky cold crept up her spine. How stupid it had been to believe that they were getting a break when the coats had stopped moving, that the house’s sinister plans against them had for some reason stopped. It was clear to her now that they were still right in the middle of it.

“Throw away your wands”, the voice demanded, “give yourselves up. If you comply, you will be spared.”

Stephen caught Elena’s glance, clearly unsure. She shook her head at him, imploring him with her eyes to hold on to his wand.

“Throw away your wands!” The voice commanded again, still hoarse, but louder, as if its owner had seen Elena’s silent gesture.

Elena’s gaze held Stephen’s; his held hers. They both needed this communication now, to support each other, even if only with looks. It didn’t change the fact, though, that they didn’t know what to do. The army of coats was still surrounding them, ready to return into motion at any time, and if they did, they would be within their sword’s reach. It was obvious that whoever the ominous voice belonged to also had the power over this robotic demons and could set them off any time.

‘If only I could blast them apart’, Elena thought, “just blow them out of our ways … Pity Severus never taught me any explosion spells …” She caught Stephen’s eyes again, not only to support him, but also – and maybe even more so – to still her own fear. However, something had changed in the dark-brown pupils of her companion. It was a glitter and Elena saw the corners of his mouth jerk a little.

“This is the last warning!” the voice rang out again, again much louder, and colder, too. “You have trespassed into this house without permission! Hence, the powers that reside here have the right to crush you! And they will, if you don’t comply. You do not stand a chance! So …”, there was a small pause as if the voice was taking a breather and during which Elena stared uncertainly at Stephen, at the strange twinkle in his dark eyes, “so lay down your wands! NOW!!”

“Get down!” Stephen hissed to Elena.

“What??”

“GET. DOWN!!!” And with that, he raised both his arms.

She wanted to protest, sensing that something horrendous was coming, but her survival instinct made her knees buckle and she fell to the floor. She didn’t catch the words that Stephen was shouting into the utter silence of the hall, but the next thing that she sensed was the ground moving and the walls shaking. There was a tremendous blow, like an explosion, originating from right beside her and making its way in a circular wave through the hall. Out of the corners of her eyes, she saw objects being blasted into all directions; the coats of armour blown apart, metal chunks and sharp swords flying high above her head, and in spite of herself she screamed, panic exploding out of her chest in the same way as something had just exploded right beside her. She buried her head in her arms, crouched on the vibrating ground and shrieked against the roar with all that her lungs were able to give. At the same time, she felt Stephen standing beside her, still upright, with raised arms. He was at the eye of the storm, at the centre of his own powerful spell; nothing could happen to him.

Silence fell. However, it was a crackling kind of silence in which even the settling dust could be heard. Also, there was a marked ring in Elena’s ears. Only slowly did she dare to look up and her first instinct was to stare at Stephen.

He was still standing, arms sunk now and he looked down, back at her.

A grin that seemed a little mad was on his face.

“I always wanted to try that spell!” he announced, almost happily.

Elena scrambled to her feet and hardly dared to take in the hall around them.

It was a picture of utter destruction. Carpets and tapestries blown apart, walls blackened, pictures hanging at odd angles. There were little smoking heaps everywhere, even the odd small fire at the edge of a carpet or upholstered chair, and best of all: the coats of armour were completely torn to pieces. Elena spotted a metal arm lying forlorn in a corner, sword in hand. It twitched awkwardly.

Thoughts were crushing in on her mind. Hadn’t she thought of an explosion just a few seconds ago, or how good it would be if she could cause one, if Severus had taught here the appropriate spell? And right away, Stephen had made precisely such an explosion happen! What was this, could he … but her mind refused to think it through, not least because of the strange ringing noise in her head. She also realized now for the first time that in spite of the fact that they were trapped by the sentient house, their powers of hexing weren’t off. It gave her the hope that her alert spells had gone out, as well, that Severus might already be on his way to help them – provided he could find a way.

And last but not least, Elena had spotted something else. A huge hole in a wall on the other side of the hall, the shreds of a tapestry still hanging over it, half covering it. She saw that the hole was an entry into another corridor, a dark one, unlit. If she wasn’t mistaken it had been roughly bricked shut at some point and since the wall at this spot hadn’t been as solid as those surrounding it, it had not been able to withstand Stephen’s explosion.

Elena grabbed her companion by the arm, pointed forward with her wand.

Stephen, however, was on a high. He giggled madly. “You know, I’ve read so many books on spells”, he blurted out, “but I was never allowed to use them, they’re dark spells, see, and father didn’t want me to practice’em, he’d even punish me if I did because Waldemar is _such_ a chicken-shit …”

“Alright, alright!” she tried to silence him, dragging him forward.

Was it wise to enter this dark corridor? Then again, what choice did they have? Any other way would only lead them to the next hall, an unexploded one, with a troupe of metal demons waiting, and they would have no mercy … And if she wasn’t mistaken, she could hear steps already, slow clanking steps, coming towards this hall of mayhem from the other side … She thought that there might be a chance that the corridor originating from the hole in the wall was not part of the sentient labyrinth the house had trapped them in. Well, it was certainly all they could try right now.

“In there!” she commanded harshly.

Stephen, still giggling, didn’t even question it and swiftly clambered through the hole, his spirits temporarily restored.

As Elena followed, a horrible high-pitched wail ripped the silence. It was the voice they had heard before, the one that had threatened them. It seemed angry and desperate at the same time.

“YOU’RE DOOMED!” it screamed. “YOU’RE AS GOOD AS DEAD!!”

Elena’s blood froze. For the fraction of a second, she was unable to move. Then, she jolted herself into action and clambered after Stephen.

 

The corridor they had entered was a little wider than the innumerable ones they had passed before, but it was dark and they had to light their wands in order to see. Again, there were shut doors on either side, but Elena sensed that this was not the same, that they might in fact have found a way out of the maze. They moved quickly and silently, with only the odd giggle from Stephen now. Eventually, they arrived on another gallery, but this was different, too, curved, and stairs led down into a hall that appeared faintly familiar to Elena.

“I have been here before!” she cried excitedly. “Over there! There’s Magrathea’s conservatory! It opens out into the gardens!”

Stephen beside her took a deep breath. They rushed down the stairs, ran across the hall, and a few moments later they entered the conservatory with its glass panes. It lay in utter darkness, but the faintly moonlit sky outside gave enough light so they could extinguish their _Lumi_. Elena could make out the shapes of the small table and the squashy chairs where Cassie and she had sat on their first visit to Abrasax house. She also saw the glass cabinets arranged throughout the room, one of which held the incomplete set of gobstones. All around, the conservatory was lined with exotic plants that stretched their branches high up to the glass ceiling, and in the relative darkness these plants, too, looked a little like looming demons, though infinitely more endearing ones than those they had just escaped from.

To make sure that the metal phantoms wouldn’t follow them too soon, Elena closed the door and looked it with a spell. For a few seconds, she allowed herself a breather, realizing only now how her heart raced and how her lungs rattled, like that of a chain-smoker, in fact.

Stephen was still riding his high, though, and didn’t seem to feel his panic anymore. Elena hardly trusted her eyes as she saw him casually strolling over to one of the glass cabinets.

“Is that it? The Game of Gobstones?” he asked curiously, pointing.

“Um … well, yeah …” No use asking him how he knew about it. She was the sane one here right now and she had to take control. “We have to get out”, she said as firmly as she could. “There must be a door leading out. Go, find it.”

At least, he took her orders without discussion, and they spread out in two directions, searching the length of the glass wall.

“It’s here!” Stephen cried soon enough. “But hey, it is _so_ locked!”

“Open it!” Elena commanded, rushing towards him.

“ _Alohomora_ won’t do”, he informed her curtly and lightly.

“Come on!”

“I’m telling you! It must be locked magically. Dark magic, I suppose.”

“Break the glass, then. Isn’t there a spell? _Vitrio_ -something?”

Stephen raised his wand at one of the glass panes and obligingly muttered the appropriate spell. However, nothing happened. “Oops”, he said lightly.

Once again, Elena froze. Magically protected glass, then? Were they still in the trap, after all?

But Stephen, still floating inches above ground after his successful explosion spell, made a sweeping gesture. “No problem!” he droned out almost magnanimously. “We’ll take a queue from the Muggles and do it the old-fashioned way!”

Elena wanted to say that in case these glass walls were really protected by magic, no Muggle way would do, old-fashioned or not, but Stephen had already turned around, walking towards one of the plants. He was beginning to crouch a little and Elena realized what he was about to do. Pick up a flower pot and hurl it against the glass. Well, why not? Let him try, he might get rid of a little unhealthy energy in the process …

At that moment, she saw a movement and a wave of shock went through her.

“NOOOO!” she wailed. “Stephen!! DON’T!!!”

But it was too late.

In the next second, she heard him scream in pain. What was more, he was lifted up the floor, hurled high into the air. In the dim moonlight, Elena saw the sharp fangs of Magrathea’s Syrian flytrap that had lain in silent, cunning wait and had suddenly come to life, seizing her moment and the perfect human prey. Elena came running and watched in horror as Stephen’s body was thrown up like that of a rag doll and crushed into the glass ceiling that was shattered to pieces and bespoke the force of the blow. The flytrap, however, caught Stephen swiftly and expertly and another wail of pain echoed through the conservatory.

Elena had to duck as the shards of glass came down, showering her, and as she dared look up again, what appeared like a drip of rain fell onto her face, ran down on the side of her nose to her lips. It smelt metallic. Blood. However, she couldn’t see Stephen anymore. The plant had him firmly in its clutches.

Without thinking, Elena readied her wand and directed it at the carnivorous plant. With all the powers that she could summon in spite of her shock and ignoring the blood pumping through her ears and making her heart race, she cried “ _Sectumsempra_!”

Another wail, but not Stephen’s. More stuff rained down, but this times it was branches, leaves and the odd fang. And then, with an awful thud, Stephen’s body crushed down to the ground. Instinctively, Elena threw herself over it, grabbed Stephen by the arm pits and dragged him away, not taking her eyes off the flytrap. It was still standing, or what remained of it, swaying and hissing, the mere skeleton of a plant, threatening to buckle any time. Elena dragged Stephen a little further away to make sure that they were out of the reach of any harm the wounded plant might still do.

Only then did she dare to look at her companion who whimpered weakly in her arms. The sight was enough to make her heart stop for an instant and constrict her throat. Stephen Periwinkle looked like the literal bloody mess. There were deep wounds in his face and all over his body, his clothes were slashed. Also, he was shaking uncontrollably and his eyes, through a veil of blood, were roving, he seemed hardly conscious. When instinctively Elena moved her hands over him, he gave a sharp cry of pain. She was sure that more than one of his bones was broken. However, there was something that worried her even more: she felt clearly, although she didn’t know how she could, that life was beginning to move out of him.

Elena couldn’t feel her fingers anymore, every inch of her body seemed cold as ice. Not knowing what to do, she started whimpering, much like Stephen, and spoke to him frantically, demanded him to stay with her, not to leave her. “Look at me”, she implored him, “ _look_ at me, Stephen, don’t loose consciousness.” But if truth be told, she had no idea if he still heard her.

She had no thought for herself anymore, how she would get out of this, how she could possibly save herself. There was no doubt that she would stay with him, even if it meant being eventually caught by Magrathea’s troupe of armours. She didn’t care. At the same time, Elena had no idea what to do. How to get out of this conservatory that appeared to have become a trap, very much like the manor. Her eyes moved up, at the broken glass ceiling, the obvious exit. But she had no way, no means of moving him up there while the glass walls appeared to be unbreakable.

She caught herself murmuring. Praying, in fact. It wasn’t something she did often, but right now it helped her to keep the desperation at bay, not to be overcome with shattering fear that would achieve nothing. She didn’t care about Stephen’s blood soaking into her dress, spreading over her arms. She didn’t see or hear anything around her, didn’t even notice her own shaking, but only stared at the young man in her arms, stroked his face, made sure he heard her voice. “It’s gonna be alright, Stephen, everything’s going to be fine …”

How could she say this to him? For all she knew, that damn Syrian flytrap – still swaying oddly in its place, hit by the most powerful _Sectumsempra_ she had ever issued (not that she could take any pleasure in it now) – didn’t only have fangs, but poison, too. But deep down Elena knew that she had to say it, that it might provide a thread, however feeble, that Stephen could cling to.

Then she heard the conservatory door fly open with a tremendous band.

‘So’, she thought, ‘this is it. They’ve come.’

Desperately and with flying fingers, she reached for her wand. If it had to be over now, she would not give up without a fight. Before her inner eye, an image of Severus appeared. His face close to hers, after they had kissed, but in this image he didn’t look like Draco Malfoy, but like himself, and Elena gave a deep sigh before she made herself jump to her feet, raising her wand.

The conservatory door stood wide ajar.

However, there was nothing.

No coats of armour. No other sinister presence. Just simply – nothing.

Elena stood there, taken aback. Was she beginning to hallucinate? At the same time, her knees buckled, she began to feel sick. Fear was finally taking her over …

But then, there was a rustle. And in the middle of the moonlit room, something – someone – appeared, literally out of thin air. She only just caught a glimpse of an iridescent fabric falling to the ground and then – Severus. Severus Snape stood there, staring at her with a worried frown on his face and uncharacteristically huge eyes. He looked like himself, except for a white-blond strand in his black hair and Draco Malfoy’s clothes that didn’t quite fit him.

Elena couldn’t believe that she was actually seeing him. What was more, she couldn’t feel her feet and felt that any time she was going to faint.

He must have intuited it, because he was with her in a heartbeat, grabbing her around the waist.

“What happened??” he demanded insistently while his hands moved over her face, her arms. Of course, he had seen the blood.

“I’m fine”, she croaked, though she felt far from it, “it’s Stephen.”

But Severus had already seen him lying on the floor and let go of her. “What the …”

“Syrian flytrap.”

He turned, stared at her in disbelief. Instead of an answer, she pointed at the plant, or what was left of it.

Severus saw it and groaned (although if it was at what the plant had done or at the slashing of such a botanical rarity was hard to tell with him) and in the next moment, he bent beside the groaning young man on the ground.

“He’s dying”, Elena wailed, now fully subject to the shakes – the relief at Severus’ appearance hadn’t hit home yet, “I know it, he’s dying!”

“Nonsense!” snarled Snape, his hands moving expertly over Stephen’s bloody body. “You need to pull yourself together!”

It was odd, but in this moment she felt that sweeter words had never been spoken.

“How did you get in here? Didn’t the coats of armour get to you?”

“Do I look like anything got to me?” he murmured, busy with examining Stephen.

“But how … this house … it trapped us for hours!”

“The spell’s off”, he informed her curtly, pulling down Stephen’s lower lids and checking the colour of his eyeballs in the light of a quickly conjured _Lumos_ , “I kind of found the switch.”

“ _How_??”

Crouching on the floor, he turned over his shoulders and gave her a stern eye. “This is no time for questions! You have to get back to Abrasax House before order is restored over there.”

“ _WHAT_??”

“ _Do_ as I tell you!”

Even in this moment, in this impossible situation, his voice had a mesmerizing effect on her.

“But Stephen needs medical attention!” she protested nonetheless. “He’s badly hurt!”

“I can see that. And I’ll take care of it. But you … you need to go back, find Miss Cleary.” He looked her up and down. “She’ll help you clean up and tell you what happened over there. You mustn’t leave the impression that you were gallivanting with this boy. You need to go back and act as if you’ve been there all along. – Don’t worry, there’s mayhem over there right now. You’ll be able to cover your tracks.”

Swiftly, he turned back to Stephen, pointed his wand at him and went into a quiet sing-song, an incantation that appeared to have an anaesthetic effect because Stephen’s eyes became dreamy and he stopped whimpering. Elena couldn’t help watching in fascination. At the same time, Severus’ words to her refused to quite sink in.

Before long, he turned around sharply and glared at her. “What are you still doing here?”

“You’ll take good care of him, won’t you?”

“What do you _think_ I’m doing here?” he bellowed, brows knit.

“What am I going to tell his family?”

“You’re not going to tell them _anything_. You have no idea where he went to.”

“And what about Draco? People are going to ask me about him!”

“I dare say that’s going to be the last thing on their minds right now.”

“What _did_ happen over there?”

“You and your questions, woman! Don’t you trust me? I already told you I have caused mayhem at Abrasax House. Just walk back in, clean yourself up first and act as if nothing happened. Nobody’s going to question it. – And if they do ask for Draco, just tell them that he … took off in the general commotion!”

Elena stared at him insecurely. In spite of the horrible feeling in her stomach, her worry for Stephen and the guilty conscience that was making itself felt – after all, he had taken off on this ill-fated adventure because of her – she couldn’t help marvelling at this resourcefulness of Severus that seemed to know no bounds. She had to remind herself what a formidable wizard he was, always an ace up his sleeve. – Then, however, something else occurred to her. “Can’t I stay here with you?”

He became angry then. “Is something wrong with your ears?? You will go back! This instant!”

“But the coats of armour outside …”

He groaned. “There _are_ no coats of armour! As I have told you, the spells in this manor are OFF! Or how do you think I got this far? – Now go! I’ll take care of your precious friend here. Pull yourself together and play your part! You’ll hear from me. Just find Miss Cleary, go home and wait!”

One thing was for sure: when Severus Snape gave you clear instructions and appeared sure of what he was doing, it had a way of putting your mind at ease, regardless of the circumstances. Of course, Elena’s knees were still shaking. The guilt about Stephen ate at her. At the same time, however, she caught a glimpse of hope. And so, without further discussion, she turned and hurried out of the conservatory, telling herself that she just had to believe it: everything was going to be alright.

 


	35. Sanctuary

**Sanctuary**

 

It was past midnight when Elena quietly let herself into the Crawford House at Spinner’s End. It lay in complete darkness, and when she crept up the stairs and listened, she could hear Anna’s soft snoring coming from out of a gap of the bedroom door. Elena went to her own box room as quietly as she could although it was hard. The adrenaline was still pumping through her veins and when she switched on the night light, she saw her own fingers shaking. A complicated mix of emotions rumbled in her stomach. The horror of being caught in Abrasax Manor. Stephen Periwinkle being attacked by a vicious – and clearly hungry – Syrian flytrap, her own guilt about him getting hurt. Then the frantic run through the snow back to Abrasax House where she had encountered the mayhem announced by Severus. Screaming and distraught people. Dead dogs. An old woman coming up to her outside of the large entrance hall, staring at her bloodied arms. “Merlin’s beard, luv! Did one of those beasts get you?” Beasts? What beasts? All she could see were harmless hunting dogs, some of them lying on the ground in a pool of blood, others still standing, in an obvious state of shock, guarding their deceased companions. It was an image she wouldn’t get out of her head so soon.

Elena peeled herself out of her coat with distraught jerky movements, then forced herself sit down on the bed in spite of her unrest. A determined hiss came from out of the blanket and made her shoot up. It was Lux who, characteristically, had snuggled up in her bed, bathing in her scent.

‘What’s wrong with you? Have you no eyes?’ he scolded her in his usual non-verbal way, but didn’t seem too angry.

Elena settled down on the edge of the bed with a sigh, grabbed Lux and set him down on her lap. Burying her flying fingers in his soft black coat soothed her, but only a little.

“I’ve had one hell of a night”, she told him.

‘So it seems’, replied Lux, pretty unconcerned, and launched into a lazy purr.

Instantly, Elena’s thoughts went back to Abrasax House. Still not understanding the situation that she’d been presented with – overturned tables, food strewn all over the ground, dropped and shattered punch glasses, sobbing women, angry men – she had somehow managed to find Cassie in the chaos. Her friend had only surveyed her quickly from head to toe, and seeing that help was needed she hadn’t wasted any time on asking what had happened, but had dragged Elena to one of the nearest bathrooms where she had helped her clean up, changing back the respective colours of their dresses and hair in the process. While doing so, she had explained to Elena what had been going on while she’d been on her adventure with Stephen Periwinkle.

“They suddenly burst in. Dogs from out of hell! I have _never_ seen anything like it! The way they looked, monsters on four paws, the way they were growling, barking … like they wanted to eat us all. Everybody panicked! It was an utter disaster!” It had still been obvious from the strain on Cassie’s face that she, too, had been scared.

“I didn’t see any hellhounds just now”, Elena had murmured in confusion while treating the blood stains on her dress with a scourging spell.

“Well, they were obviously jinxed! Once the first dogs were killed, they turned back to their original form. Someone’s idea of a joke, I guess …”

Elena had gulped. Severus’ idea of a joke. But to help her, to get her out of the maze that Abrasax Manor had turned into at the time. She couldn’t very well complain.

“You should have seen Magrathea!” Cassie had prattled on. “I saw her coming down the stairs after all hell broke loose – no idea where she’d been – but she turned as white as a sheet when she saw the jinxed dogs. All she could do was scream! _‘Aeneas! Aeneas! Do something! Anything!’_ Well, he was totally rattled, too, as you can imagine. But he killed two or three dogs and that was when the spell ended.”

Elena hadn’t been able to bring herself to tell Cassie that Severus had done all this. She understood that he had done it to help her, that it had somehow been necessary to get her out of the trap of Abrasax Manor – she also saw that the idea as such had been quite brilliant – but that he had carelessly caused the death of perfectly docile hunting dogs was something she found hard to forgive and she was too ashamed on his behalf to tell her friend. After all, Cassie was probably able to guess at a few things, but had chosen to say nothing for the time being.

‘Not quite so hard, please!’ Lux’s non-verbal communication ripped her out of the flashback. Inadvertently, she had dug her fingers too deep into his fur.

“Sorry.”

‘Aah, yes, that’s much better!’ Lux moaned when she’d adjusted.

She would have words with Severus about those dogs. Saviour or not, a wizard of his status should have found a different solution! Or was she too critical?

After cleaning up, she had returned with Cassie to the large hall where the party had been fast dissolving. Shocked house-elves had scurried about, trying to clear away the mess. Witches and wizards had thrown over their coats and were about to leave, casting sinister glances at the host and hostess that stood in the centre of the hall, their faces glum and embarrassed, issuing profuse apologies and trying at hearty good-byes that didn’t come over quite genuine.

In fact, Magrathea had looked horrible, not quite so pretty anymore. Her hair had been in disarray and the shock had loomed in her large blue eyes. There had been deep lines running from the wings of her nose down to the corners of her mouth. She had been desperately clutching her husband’s arm while the latter had held himself upright and tried to put up a brave front. However, when Magrathea had spotted Elena she had momentarily woken up from her stupor of disbelief.

“There you are, Miss Horwarth! I couldn’t see you anywhere, you cannot imagine how worried I was!”

Elena had scrutinized the woman’s face. Did Magrathea know that she and Stephen had been in Abrasax Manor? Had Magrathea held them there, knowing who she held? But all she could read in the lady’s visage were shock and shame.

“I was here all the time”, Elena had said as calmly as she had been able to. “I hid when the dogs came.”

“Madam Abernathy told us you were bitten?” Aeneas asked her with worry on his face. “That you had blood all over you?”

Elena had quickly shaken her head. “No. I merely touched one of the dogs after it was dead.”

“My hunting dogs!” Magrathea had wailed, close to tears. “They were perfectly harmless! Someone jinxed them!”

“Ah, my love. They’re just dogs, they’re replaceable!”

Magrathea glared at him aghast. “To you, everything and everyone is replaceable!” Madam Crowley had hissed at her husband and for one fleeting moment, Elena had been right on her side..

“Please, Thea, calm yourself …”

“I’ve seen those hellhounds before”, Elena had said, not only to change the subject, but also to prove that she had been there all the time – she had given a brief description of the hellhound’s appearance – and to watch the Crowley’s reaction. “They almost attacked Professor Snape and me. When I was still his student.”

“Really?” Magrathea’s eyes flickered uneasily.

“Yeah. But those weren’t jinxed.”

Neither Magrathea nor Aeneas had been able to look her straight in the eyes.

“Luckily, those were”, Aeneas had grumbled soothingly.

“ _Luckily_!” his wife had repeated with acid in her voice.

“Um … Miss Cleary, Miss Horwath … I’m guessing you wish to go home now”, Aeneas had said quickly, “transports back to London are currently being organized, maybe you’ve seen …”

“We have, thank you”, Cassie had chimed in, “I think we _really_ should leave now. It’s been a … well …” She had bitten her lip, swallowing the part about the ‘lovely evening’ and ‘splendid party’.

“By the way, where is Mr Malfoy?” Madam Crowley had asked, suddenly alert again. “I haven’t seen him for quite some time, either. I hope nothing happened to him!”

“Nothing happened to _anyone_ , my love …”

“Draco has flown off on his broom”, Elena had said as lightly as possible. “As you know, he didn’t feel too well in the first place, and when the hellhounds happened …”

“I understand”, Aeneas had said quickly, “Madam Malfoy left a while ago, too. There was no use in keeping up our security provisions any longer, you can’t keep people from just taking off after a thing like this …”

Magrathea had interrupted him with a scoff, then unexpectedly cast quite an arrogant eye on Elena. “So he didn’t wait for you? Are you all that sure of this young man’s affections?” The remark had been quite snarky, a reminder of the old Magrathea.

Elena had been at a loss of what to say, but Cassie had smoothly jumped in. “Don’t rub it in, Madam Crowley. I’m sure you know about men …?”

She had inadvertently hit a sore spot because Magrathea’s expression had changed instantly and she had cast a very quick side glance at her husband. “In fact I do! – I’m sorry, Miss Horwath.”

After this, the girls had said their good-byes, walking swiftly into the direction of the front door. Outside, a number of Hippogriff carriages had been lined up and it had been obvious that guests couldn’t stuff themselves into them quickly enough. However, before Cassie and Elena had been able to board, Waldemar Periwinkle had addressed them.

“Miss Horwath!” His face had been distraught. “We have lost Stephen! Have you seen him anywhere? I know you two get on well, so I thought …”

Elena had turned to him, faking a frown and forcing herself to look Waldemar in the eye. “I’m sorry, Mr Periwinkle. I haven’t seen him since the start of the elven ballet.”

“Are you sure?” Waldemar’s eyes had narrowed. His worry had been obvious. A few steps behind him, Elena had spotted Ansgard, looming. Worry had been staring out of his old, lined face, as well, even worse than with Waldemar. Elena had realized in that moment that old Periwinkle loved his younger son, no matter how ‘problematic’ he might be. She had sensed in that instant that he loved Stephen even better than Waldemar who was – if truth be told – quite obnoxious. The realization had made it all the harder for her to keep a straight face while her stomach had been rumbling with guilt.

“I’m sorry. I truly hope you’ll find him. But don’t worry too much. I heard no one got hurt by those hounds.” She had had to press the lie through her front teeth, knowing that Stephen in fact had got hurt and still fearing for his life, even though he’d already been in the hands of Severus Snape at this point. But even though Severus was a competent wizard, he wasn’t infallible and that damn Syrian flytrap had got at Stephen bad.

Elena had given a sigh of relief when she and Cassie had finally squeezed into one of the carriages.

What an exit! Sitting on the edge of her bed with a carelessly purring Lux on her lap, she went over the events of the evening again and again. As was her nature, she examined every detail for something she had done wrong and how she could have prevented Stephen’s accident with the flytrap. Why, she should have made a bigger effort at grounding him when he’d been so exhilarated about his successful explosion spell! He had been so high on his prowess as a wizard, he hadn’t been thinking clearly anymore. A Stephen in his right mind wouldn’t have carelessly tried to grab a flower pot without looking at first which kind of plant it held, of that she was quite certain. And again, her stomach had rumbled with guilt.

If only Stephen was alright! She hoped, no, she prayed that Severus had been able to get him out of Abrasax Manor on time and had found a way to help him. Specifically, she hoped that Severus had _cared_ enough, inconsiderate dog killer that he was. Hopefully he’d had taken him to St. Mungo’s where Stephen would be well cared for, where is family would be able to find him.

Elena’s eyelids became heavy. She was exhausted, her body wanted sleep. At the same time, however, her mind was restless, she couldn’t really settle down while her thoughts enacted a merry carousel. So she remained sitting upright, allowing her eyes to close every now and then while her fingers gently worked at Lux’s silky black fur.

Only when she’d started to become quieter and almost fell asleep in her sitting position did she hear the rap on her window. She jumped up, pushing Lux off her lap. He gave an annoyed meow, but Elena didn’t care and ran over to let in the owl, a typical barn owl that appeared quite glad to be allowed into a warm room with the snow outside falling harder than it had in days. She relieved the bird of the rolled-up parchment it had brought, then mechanically fed it the usual crumbled-up day-old biscuits she kept in her room for exactly that purpose.

She recognized Severus handwriting even in the half-dark. It was cramped and looked a little as if a spider had taken a bath in black ink and then crawled over the parchment.

 _Meet me at Hogwarts_ , the message said. No more.

Elena sighed.

“I have to go out again”, she informed Lux who sat beside her on the floor and looked up attentively.

‘I’m coming’, he informed her.

“No, you stay here.”

‘I’m coming’, repeated Lux with stubborn cat determination.

“Ah. – Well, why not?” As a matter of fact, she was glad to have a bit of company when venturing out so late at night, and particularly after the events of the last few hours.

So she threw over her cloak once more – it was the one that Severus had given her not so long ago – gathered up the cat and quietly left her room, sneaked down the stairs and out of the house where she eventually, and with another deep sigh, Disapparated.

 

Hogwarts was deeply snowed in. The hill that led up to the castle looked almost like a plane due to the thick layer of white that evenly enveloped it. Flakes blew into Elena’s face as soon as she touched down, but even through the drift and in spite of the dark, she could make out an even darker figure standing between the trees at the hem of the Forbidden Forrest, immovable, as it seemed, and clearly waiting.

“You’ve taken your time”, Severus Snape said as he walked up to her.

“ _You_ have no reason to complain!” she hissed at him aggressively while Lux struggled in her arms and eventually jumped off.

“Haven’t I?” A black arched eyebrow shot up. “Well …”

“Do you know what you have done to those dogs? Some of them got killed because of your _splendid_ idea!”

Severus groaned. “I knew it!”

“What? That the Crowleys would panic and kill them off??”

In the weak moonlight that was reflected by the snow, Elena saw him open his mouth, then close it again. He sighed deeply. “Maybe you can forgive me one day”, he said with heavy sarcasm dripping off his words, “that I didn’t exactly have a lot of time to come to a humanitarian decision that would have pleased you. It may sound crazy, but I was a little _too_ focussed on getting you out of that bloody manor!” The sarcasm was replaced by anger and in fact, it got to Elena. For a fleeting moment, she felt ungrateful.

“You know how I feel about animals”, she murmured, hating herself for her embarrassment.

“I know”, growled Severus, “obviously they are more important to you than getting out of a dicey situation alive!”

‘Really’, Lux said non-verbally, sitting on the snowy ground at Elena’s feet, ‘it seems a little rich that you make all that fuss about a couple of _dogs_ when all he did was help you!’

“Yeah, that’s right, gang up on me!”

Severus who couldn’t know what Lux had said to her but could guess from her reaction, exchanged a meaningful glance with the cat, then visibly bit down on a grin. “Come up to the castle”, he suggested, much softer, “it’s bloody cold out here.”

Elena sighed, then she gave him another sharp stare. “Where is Stephen?”

“Inside”, replied Snape, pointing up to Hogwarts on its hill.

“So you where able to get him out?”

“Looks like. I’ve recently had some practice in flying without a broom and carrying someone in the process”, he rolled his eyes, “though doing it with a virtually dead weight and without a run-up was quite a challenge …”

She wasn’t exactly in a praising mood. “Why didn’t you take him to St. Mungo’s?” she demanded roughly.

He raised another sarcastic eyebrow at her. “Taking him somewhere where he would be accosted by a flock of healers? Would he have liked it, given his … disposition?”

Elena’s stare turned into one of surprise. The short time he had spent with Stephen had obviously taught him a lot about the young man. She wanted to ask Snape since when he did care, but swallowed the acidy comment. “I just thought”, she mumbled, “that at St. Mungo’s, they could have …”

“They can do nothing that I can’t do on my own”, he cut her short, “as you will see. Now come up to the castle, will you?”

Elena gave a curt nod and made to follow him, turning around briefly to look at Lux.

‘Aren’t you coming?’ she asked him silently.

But Lux had already started to trot away through the snow, his body leaving a narrow trail. However, he graced her with a quick glance over his moving shoulders. ‘ _I am the cat that walks by himself_ ’, he informed her solemnly, ‘ _and all places are alike to me_.’ And gone he was.

“Damn cat”, Elena pressed through her teeth as she trudged behind Severus, “at first, he absolutely wanted to come and now he’s quoting bloody Kipling at me!”

“Let him”, Severus counselled her, “Hogwarts has a very rewarding mice situation. He’ll love it.”

“Oh, don’t make yourself into an animal champion all of a sudden, will you?!”

Snape rolled his eyes yet again, then led the way in silence.

It was only when they were halfway up the hill when Elena realized that he was probably going to take her to his quarters. Where else, since surely he didn’t wish to alert any students or Hogwarts staff to the fact that he had brought an outsider here, specifically an outsider who’d got badly hurt. Ridiculously, the prospect made her heart race. Also, she felt that she was looking forward to getting inside the castle; she had only been there once, and in its underbelly. This would be something entirely different.

She soon realized that Severus was really sneaking her in, too. At first, they entered a snowed-in greenhouse – which reminded her too much of Magrathea’s conservatory to not feel a shiver running down her spine – and through aisles lined with mysterious-looking plants – no Syrian flytrap in sight, thank God – Snape finally arrived at a small door that sprung open after he casually waved his wand at it. From there, it was underground corridors again – once more, Elena’s skin crawled – but not for long before they arrived in a dungeons room that, in spite of the rather low ceiling and the absence of windows, looked inviting and comfortable due to its spaciousness and a large fire crackling in a huge, blackened fireplace.

Elena realized that this was it. Severus Snape’s private world. Again, a shiver ran down her spine, but of a different sort. The floor was immaculately swept. The thick rough brick pillars held fixtures for torches, all ablaze and contributing to the warm shine that bathed the room. The niches were lined with innumerable books, the furniture was heavy and medieval-looking and there were bearskin rugs covering the stone floor. With a jolt of surprise, she realized that the place was cosy; in a very reduced and purist way, granted, but still way more cosy than his house at Spinner’s end despite of Gilly’s efforts. So this was the place where he really _lived_. She wasn’t prepared for how much she liked it.

“Nice digs”, she said, still not prepared to be too kind to him.

“Yes”, he replied simply, “Hogwarts knows how to provide comfort.”

She nodded, taking in every corner.

“Your friend is up here”, Snape informed her and pointed at a winding staircase.

“You took him to your _bedroom_?” she asked curiously.

“Where else?” It was visible in his face that he didn’t like it much, either. “Make no mistake, he got hurt really badly and he needs to rest. Also, I didn’t want to take him to the hospital wing. Our school matron is … well, competent, but also a very nosy woman. I’m not prepared to answer all of her questions.”

Elena nodded quickly and allowed Snape to lead her up the very steep staircase.

His bedroom was the next surprise, and in any conceivable way. First of all, it was on ground level which meant that it had windows – large, arched windows with coloured glass that probably made for a very nice light during daytime. Other than the downstairs living room, this one had a high ceiling and elegant slender pillars in gothic style, snoring gargoyles sitting on the high capitals. There was another lit fireplace, a small number of furniture pushed against the wall and a simple large bed where Stephen Periwinkle sat up, two cushions in his back, perusing a stack of papers.

“Stephen! Hi!” Elena called out excitedly, immensely relieved to see him alive.

Stephen looked up briefly; looked at Elena, but it appeared as if he hardly recognized her. The curt nod was almost imperceptible before his eyes dropped to the papers in his hands again.

“Shock”, Severus beside her murmured by way of an explanation.

“I see”, said Elena. She didn’t really care about Stephen’s lack of joy when seeing her; she knew him a little by now, could imagine what the last few hours had done to him. Also, she was immensely surprised by how well he looked, clearly conscious, and although his arms were bandaged and she saw bites and cuts on his face, she had the feeling that those were shrinking even as she took them in. Severus had clearly done a splendid job. She watched him walking up to Stephen and handing him a cup.

“You should drink a little more of this”, she heard Severus murmur and was surprised at the gentleness of his tones, “it will accelerate the healing process.”

Stephen looked up at Snape, face blank, but there was a glitter in his eyes, one that suggested an awkward kind of respect. He took the cup from Snape’s hand, took a few deep draughts, then screwed up his face.

“Tastes like rotten eggs”, he murmured.

Snape chuckled. “I know. Good things taste bad.”

Stephen took another gulp, then handed the cup back to Snape and started on his papers again.

Elena had watched the scene with mounting surprise. She might be mistaken, but it seemed to her that there was an understanding between the two men, forged in the short time when she had been absent. She sensed an air of patient benevolence on Snape’s part, and one of grudging respect on Stephen’s. She found it most remarkable.

Cautiously, she approached the bed and sat down on its edge, looking at Stephen. He didn’t react, didn’t seek her eyes. Was he angry with her? It would make sense, after all he had gotten into this mess because of her. She looked up at Snape for help who responded by a slight shake of the head. ‘Give him time’, it meant. He took a chair that stood close to the bed and sat down.

“Time to talk”, he announced, looking at Elena expectantly. “Tell me all about what happened to you tonight.”

“Hasn’t Stephen done that already?”

Snape shook his head. “Mr Periwinkle doesn’t want to talk about it. And he doesn’t need to, because you are here now.”

 _Mr Periwinkle_ , indeed! Plus, Severus appeared to protect the young man, shield him from an unpleasant experience. He was every part the healer, advocating for his patient. Elena felt a smile coming to her lips. She would never have expected this.

Haltingly, she started on her account and told Severus in all detail what had happened: how she and Stephen had walked the underground passages of Abrasax House and Manor to eventually arrive in the crypt where they had heard a young medium make her predictions. She repeated the girl’s words as well as she could remember them, then explained how her companion and she had got lost in Abrasax Manor, only to be attacked by an army of iron men. Elena also mentioned Stephen’s splendid explosion spell, careful to praise him for it, but not putting too much stress on his exhilaration afterwards, and finished with what had happened in the conservatory. Snape listened attentively, didn’t interrupt nor ask, but obviously soaked up every detail.

When she had finished, silence ensued. Stephen rustled his papers. Snape was clearly thinking about what he had just heard.

“I’ve been trying to analyse the predictions”, Elena told him, “but with most of what we heard, I can’t make head nor tail.”

Snape didn’t reply immediately. “The dragon blood …” he murmured eventually.

“What with it? Does it tell you anything?”

“There are two places in the magical world”, Severus explained, “on the British Isles, at least, where dragon blood is stored in large quantities. One of them is St. Mungo’s – they need it for making complex potions – the other is the Ministry of Magic.”

“Why would the dragon blood be relevant?”

“The answer is obvious: for making creatures.”

Elena held her breath for a fraction of a second. “You mean … they need dragon blood to make more satyrs and hellhounds?”

“Maybe to produce more stable versions. Especially if they have to – as your medium put it – _sacrifice the harvest_ to become more successful. They might want to plan to destroy the creatures they’ve made so far, but to make new ones, more effective and dangerous ones. And in order to achieve this, they need dragon blood. Now, considering that dragon blood is expensive and quite hard to come by …”

“They might plan a raid!” Elena interrupted excitedly. “Well, that would make sense, it fits what was being said! And they are going to do it when the moon wanders into Mercury’s domain … whatever that means.”

“Easy to ascertain with basic astrology. Since the moon is a fast-moving planet, it might be all too soon.”

“Ten days.” This came from Stephen. He had very briefly looked up from his papers and had thrown quite an exhausted look at both of them as if he couldn’t for the life of him understand how anyone would not know the moon’s exact position at any given time.”

“Ten days? Well, that’s … New Year!”

“A splendid time to do it”, Snape said sarcastically, “during the holiday season, when guards in official buildings are traditionally more lax than at any time during the year. – Well, they won’t be this year, I’ll make sure of it.” For a brief moment, a satisfied evil grin appeared on his face.

“You really think that they will either hit St. Mungo’s or the Ministry?”

“They wouldn’t put this young girl through the whole Sybil routine if they didn’t believe in her prophecies.” He was silent for a moment. “It is quite a piece of luck that you were able to hear this. It might save a lot of trouble.”

For the first time in hours, Elena felt a warm feeling in her stomach. So far, in her mind, the whole evening had been a failure, an adventure that had caused a lot of trouble but no break. But clearly, she wasn’t very good at interpreting prophecies … except for one aspect of it, she suddenly remembered.

“What do you think about the whole ‘servant of Saturn’ thing?” she asked Severus carefully.

To her surprise, he grinned quite broadly for his standards. “What do _you_ think?”

“I think that it might … refer to you?”

“Of course it does”, Snape said and didn’t seem to be aware of the fact that he sounded satisfied and a little vain. “And it explains so many things perfectly!”

“Like what?”

“Like … why they only dare to make my life difficult, but not to hurt me in any way. I was brought in front of the Wizengamot, my office and home were ransacked, I was attacked by a bunch of hellhounds …”

“Not just _you_!”

“… with the sole purpose of scaring me off, to persuade me to mind my own business.” He leant back in his chair, looking almost comfortable and Elena thought she could hear him issue a quiet “Ha!”

“They are afraid of you”, Elena stated.

“Indeed they are. And they should be. After all, I have risen from the dead …”

“Aren’t you being a little pompous now?” Elena asked edgily.

However, Severus wasn’t looking at her, but staring at one of the torches mounted on the wall which gave his black eyes a glimmer. “I’ve been wondering myself what it meant”, he murmured.

“What do you mean?”

“My … reprieve from death. For a long time, I thought there was no purpose in it. Let’s be honest – I never deserved to live.”

“No, Severus, don’t say that …”

“Don’t be sentimental. It’s true. I have no attachments, no ties. I had served my purpose in doing for bloody Potter what I could. Nobody would have missed me if I had died. But I didn’t.”

“You think that fate had a plan for you and that it was this?” Elena couldn’t help screwing up her mouth. “I had no idea that you were so invested in fate …”

“I’m not”, said Snape, “I prefer the possibilities of free will. However, there can be no denying that exercising free will is only possible within the framework of what fate sees fit for us. The trick is to achieve a balance.”

“Well, anyway …” Elena exhaled while raising and dropping her shoulders. “At least you don’t need to be afraid of Crowley’s gang now …”

“I never was”, growled Snape, looking daggers. “And that they can’t kill me doesn’t mean they can’t hurt me.” His look changed, became pensive for the briefest of moments.

“Or those around you”, Elena interpreted his mien.

“Yes”, he replied very quietly.

“The medium said something else about ‘the servant of Saturn’ … well, about _you_. Let me see if I get it right …”

But before she could say it, Stephen spoke up again. His voice sounded hoarse and unemotional. “‘ _He is light and dark at equal parts. The Best and the Worst live on in him, are his fathers. It is a balance not easily tipped but by a serious blow. The result, however, is undecided.’”_

Snape stared. A twitch went through his body. Elena saw how he struggled briefly to retain a calm face, and as per usual, he succeeded, but she had got a glimpse into his soul. He _did_ have two fathers that represented the Best and the Worst, she realized. Dumbledore and Voldemort. He had been shaped by them, protected and furthered by them. Did they really both live on in him, at equal parts? Would Severus be tipped over to the dark side, was the balance within him so precarious? She felt uneasy. This was not how she wanted to see him. All the same, she knew that it was true, that Severus Snape’s life so far had been a war within himself, between light and dark, good and evil. Maybe she had underestimated that both forces were still working at him and that this battle was not yet over.

Snape had gotten up from his chair, maybe to mask his unease. Again, he was pressing the cup into Stephen’s hand, ordering him – but with surprising … well, maybe not _kindness_ exactly, but something similar to it – to finish the potion. Stephen was a little reluctant, but he did as told, gulped down the liquid and tried hard at a steady face. – Elena thought it a good idea to change the subject.

“There was another prophecy, the one that worried me the most. The mention of a ‘grand strike’ that is being planned, and the medium’s advice was to ‘cut off the king’s head’. – What do you make of that?”

Again, Snape gave her an intense look over his shoulder and asked her what she thought.

“Well”, she started, unsure of herself, “I’m afraid I’m not very good at this, but … I guess a king is always the representative of some authority, right? Someone – or _something_ – that is in charge, has control. Like … the Ministry of Magic. And the head of the Ministry of Magic would of course be …”

“Kingsley Shacklebolt”, Snape finished with a derisive scoff.

“Do you think they want to _assassinate_ him??”

“Or disempower him in some way. Maybe. But only if the ‘king’ is really the Ministry of Magic. It could be something else.”

“What, for instance?”

“The ‘king’ could also stand for the sum of morale currently predominant in the wizarding world.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Just think of all the values witches and wizards hold dear right now, at these times, in the present climate. Then ask yourself who the most significant representative of these standards is.”

It was obvious. “Harry Potter!”

“Of course. Harry bloody Potter.” Snape sighed audibly. “And here we are, back at the purpose of me being raised from the dead. Maybe I’m not finished protecting that brat …”

“We should warn him!”

“And we will”, he assured her. “Shacklebolt, too. Because the fact is that we cannot know what the medium really meant. It might be something entirely different. It might be utter nonsense, for all we know. The point is that Crowley and his gang believe it, that they are the ones that will not only listen to a young girl’s feverish prophecies, but bring it into reality, as well. The only reason why prophecies become true is because people believe them.”

“Self-fulfilling”, Elena murmured.

“Exactly. – If we were to know how _they_ interpret the medium’s words, we would be able to find out what they are planning. However, all we can do right now is to be watchful and to protect ourselves as well as we can. – Did she say anything else?”

“No, just …” Elena stopped herself. She was thinking of the thin masked man she had seen in the crypt, the one that in her mind had probably been Ansgard Periwinkle, who had approached the medium shortly before Stephen had insisted that they leave, to ask something of her. Something to do with Periwinkle’s wife, Stephen’s mother. Elena cast a quick side glance at Stephen and then decided not to mention it. It had sounded too much like a very private question. “Nothing really interesting”, she said eventually. “What I found much more significant is that _obviously_ there is something going on between Crowley and the medium.”

Snape looked at her sceptically, then wrinkled his large nose in distaste. Elena went on to remark on the strain that she had observed in the Crowley marriage. This caught his interest.

“If it is true”, he said, “it can only help us. The reason the Crowleys are so successful is clearly because they form a united front. A match made in hell, so to speak, where everybody brings what they have: she, the contacts in the wizarding world; he, his cunning and experience in negotiating and manipulating. Also I’d say that together they can achieve quite stunning magic, as evidenced by this Manor of theirs. However, if there is discord and we can further it, it will be to our advantage.”

“But isn’t it rather …”, she broke off. “You know, I don’t mean to be prudish or anything, but a man of that age and such a young girl! Isn’t it illegal?”

“Is it in the Muggle world?” Snape asked and he genuinely didn’t seem to know.

“Yes. Even if she consented, she’s still underage which would make it a crime if he was intimate with her.”

“It isn’t strictly against the law in the wizarding world”, Snape informed her, “but it isn’t looked upon well, either, in fact most witches and wizards would find it sordid, but everybody knows that it happens all the time.”

“I’m pretty sure it happens all the time in the Muggle world, too. But at least, it’s punishable.”

“Remarkable”, said Snape with a thoughtful expression on his face.

“You witches and wizards really still live in a dark age!” Elena scoffed with a shake of her head.

“ _Us_ witches and wizards, you mean”, he said with a crooked grin. “You cannot spontaneously decide not to be one of us as soon as you learn of an aspect that you dislike.”

“Maybe I should start campaigning. Like Hermione does for the house elves. Only that I would be campaigning for an age of consent.”

“Please don’t do that!” Severus said with a little moan while he sat down again.

“ _I_ think she should”, Stephen spoke up, not looking up from his papers. The look of concentration on his face had deepened.

“See?” Elena smiled at Severus. Her anger with him because of the dead dogs had almost evaporated. She felt very cosy, here in his quarters. Being in his bedroom – the place where he rested his head at night – had started to make her feel a bit erotic and it was beginning to mellow her attitude. “But now, won’t you tell me about tonight from your point of view?”

Glad to be leaving the subject of sexual consent, Snape obliged her. It was a brief account because he was an expert in keeping to the bare facts. Nonetheless, it was quite a story. What was most thrilling to Elena was the worry she heard between the words, the worry for her that had driven him out to explore the secrets of the Crowley estate on his own in order to find her. Particularly what he told her about Magrathea Crowley’s hex – the one in which she had held the iron hand of a suit of armour, no doubt manipulating the many suits of armour in her manor – strangely fascinated her. It also helped her to understand his decision about the dogs a little better. Not that she condoned it, but she saw that to him it had been the best solution presenting itself at the time.

“Once again”, Severus ended his account, “we were lucky. We got out of a dicey situation, and relatively unscathed.” He turned to Stephen. “Not meaning to trivialize what happened to you.”

“I see”, Stephen said loftily, eyes fixed to his papers.

“What is it you’re reading, Stephen?” Elena asked as she was not able to hold back her curiosity any longer.

“Mr Snape gave me this”, Stephen explained curtly. _Mr_ Snape, not _Professor_ Snape. Well, Severus had never been a teacher of Stephen’s, that much was true. On the other hand, Elena knew how touchy Severus was about his title. However, he didn’t even raise an eyebrow at Stephen, but Elena raised a questioning one at him.

“I gave him the encrypted papers we found in Leshnikov’s car”, Snape explained lazily.

“You did??”

“Mr Periwinkle mentioned he had a liking for riddles. I thought it a good way to take his mind off what happened.”

Stephen looked at her, nodded in confirmation and focussed on the papers again.

Elena felt her confusion mount by the minute. She remembered very well how sceptical Severus had been about her alliance with Stephen Periwinkle at first. However, any such concerns appeared to have evaporated. She got a feeling that Severus had sussed out very well what Stephen was all about. And as it looked, he intended to use it. After all, Stephen owed him one.

“By the way, Stephen”, she went on, “you wanted to tell me something. Remember?”

This time, however, Stephen didn’t grace her with any attention.

Elena was in no mood to let it go, though. “You wanted to tell me how you knew about all the things going on in the academy. The passwords for the passages. And why you tried that explosion spell the very minute I was thinking of it.” She turned to Severus. “Because he did, you know. It was when we were attacked by those suits of armour and that voice started talking to us. I thought what a pity it was you never taught me any explosion spells. And just in that second …”

“Stands to reason”, Snape replied without any conceivable surprise.

Stephen still didn’t look up from his papers, but the corner of his mouth jumped.

“What?” Elena stared from one to the other.

“It’s obvious”, Severus said, rolling his eyes. “Really, woman, sometimes I wish you would just try and _think_ for a change!”

She inhaled sharply. “Are you a _Legilimens_ , Stephen?”

“More than that.” This from Snape; it sounded a little defeated. “Your friend Mr Periwinkle here is a _natural_ Legilimens. Common folks like us have to study it. He can’t help doing it.”

“You mean … he’s had it since birth?”

“Maybe not that early. But I’d say it manifested itself as soon as he was able to speak and started at logical thought. – Am I right?”

Stephen nodded, eyes doggedly on the encrypted documents.

“How did you figure it out so quick?” Elena asked Severus, not without a certain envy because she had been so dim.

“I realize when someone is reading me”, Snape explained. “And when I tried to shield my thoughts from him, I found out that I couldn’t. That’s the way it is with natural Legilimenses. You _can_ shield with them, but it takes way more than the average effort. Which is quite frustrating.” He sighed. “On the plus side, he’s _not_ a natural Occlumens. In fact, as I found out he has no idea about Occlumency. Have you, Mr Periwinkle?”

“No”, Stephen replied monosyllabically.

“Is this why …” Elena broke off. “What with your _assessments_?”

“That’s a scam”, Stephen said, finally casting his papers aside and looking at her grudgingly. “No one must know what I can do. Not even my brother and father. But of course, over time they found out that something was up with me, especially when I was younger and couldn’t always quite keep to myself what I had seen in their minds. So I convinced them that I was somehow _psychic_. That’s better. People don’t feel so threatened by it because seers are never taken quite seriously. – My mother taught me to do it this way.”

“Your mother knew?”

“My mother was like me. Like the Emperor Claudius’ teacher – who counselled him to play dumb – my mother, too, taught me to play dumb, or dumber than I really am, to be left in peace. – Of course, she couldn’t have known about the Crowleys and how interesting it would make me for them.”

“Well, then just imagine how they would react if they knew”, Snape interjected.

“They’d freak!” Elena said with a laugh in her voice.

Many things were falling into place. It made perfect sense. All the things Stephen had known – that she was not at the Crowley Academy to learn, for instance, but to spy; his liking of the Robert Graves book about Claudius; and the rapport between him and Severus, too. Communication via the mind usually took place in the form of images – which essentially meant that much more could be conveyed in less time than was the case in spoken language. Stephen had read Snape, and Snape had read Stephen. On Severus’ behalf, she was sure, an element of respect came into the mix, as well. Severus Snape, the expert Legilimens, had found his master. She couldn’t help thinking how, in spite of all the admiration, that must have hurt his pride. However, if it did, Severus didn’t let on.

“It makes Mr Periwinkle a valuable ally, of course”, he said. “Particularly because he doesn’t wish to go back to his family.”

“Or to the academy”, Stephen supplied quickly. “I’m not doing it anymore. As I told you.”

Elena remembered. “But what will you do instead?” she asked insecurely.

“Mr Snape said I can stay here. As his assistant.”

“At Hogwarts??” Elena stared at Severus.

“He can stay a little while”, Snape said, calming the waves, “I think I can sell it to McGonagall that I indeed need an assistant to keep up with my workload. It’s not unprecedented. Altogether, however, I think that Grimmauld Place would, in the long run, be the better alternative for him to stay.”

Elena found it hard to believe all this. All these decisions made while she had been absent?

“I’d rather stay here”, Stephen said now. “I’ve never been to Hogwarts, you know. Had private teachers. Very _stupid_ private teachers.”

“Well, we’ll see”, Severus said with an air of magnanimity. “If you stay here, you will have to comply with a set of rules, though.”

“You can’t do this!” Elena couldn’t bear it any longer. “Have none of you _thought_ about this? Ansgard Periwinkle is sick with worry about Stephen! Waldemar too, in his way. You can’t just let them think that something really bad happened to him or that he vanished from the face of the earth!”

To her utter surprise, both men replied with an almost identical gesture, an indifferent shrug.

“I certainly have no pity with old Periwinkle”, Severus said coolly, “he had none with me. Apart from that, having young Mr Periwinkle might be a valuable bargaining chip in any dealings with the Periwinkle family.”

“ _Bargaining chip??_ ” Elena gasped. “You’re talking as if you kidnapped Stephen – and he’s sitting here right beside you!!”

“I _have_ kidnapped him, in a way”, Snape admitted with an evil grin playing around his mouth.

“It might be the only way to bring my father to his senses”, said Stephen, and it was obvious that he was not in the least put out about what Snape had just said, “and the only way for me to be finally free.”

Elena was aghast. “Do I understand you correctly? You’re a _willing_ kidnapping victim??”

An ever so slight look of concern crossed Stephen’s face. “Well, if you _insist_ I can write my father an owl. That I’m fine and that he’s not to worry about me …”

“A bloody owl??”

“If it makes you happy …”

In his chair, Severus gave a rare gleeful chuckle, and while Elena was still staring at Stephen in disbelief, he got up. “We do not have to settle all this now. In fact, Mr Periwinkle should rest now, have his peace. Don’t you think, Elena?” He gave her a meaningful look and she understood it to mean that she was to follow him because he wanted to tell her something in confidence.

Flustered, she got up, bade Stephen good-bye and wished him a good night. However, the second he had realized that the conversation had come to an end, he had taken up his papers again.

“Not too long, Mr Periwinkle”, Snape spoke into the room, “rest really _is_ essential for the potion to do its work in an optimal way.”

“Alright, Mr Snape.” It sounded almost docile.

Severus made a clandestine gesture at Elena and went to the door. She followed him, out of the bedroom, down the winding staircase until once again they stood in the windowless, though very comfortable downstairs room with its torches and bearskin rugs.

“Sit down”, Snape said as soon as they had arrived and pointed to the medieval-looking settee close to the fireplace. “There are a few things about your friend that I have to tell you.”

“You like him, don’t you?” she blurted out, unable to hold her excitement.

Severus didn’t confirm. “He is an exceptionally gifted young man. In his own way”, he admitted nevertheless.

“It’s his condition”, Elena said as she sat down and held her hands towards the fireplace as her fingers were still cold. “I have read about it, and I think what he has is called ‘autism’.”

“Ah”, said Snape as he took a chair facing her. The term clearly didn’t mean anything to him.

“It is a developmental disorder”, she explained as good as she could, “and has something to do with the way people like Stephen perceive their surroundings. They have trouble with emotions – showing them and recognizing them – and social interaction. There’s a form of autism that’s called Asperger’s, and I think that must be what Stephen has. Those people sometimes have high intelligence, particularly in isolated fields, such as calculating, solving complex riddles, autodidactic abilities, and they can be very functional in their own way. There is a movie about an autist that I love, it’s called _Rainman_ , and …”

“Please spare me this”, Severus said, raising his hand. “I may not know your Muggle movie, but I have met people like him. I’m afraid we don’t have a word for it in the wizarding world – except for ‘crazy’ or ‘dumb’ – but it does happen even in our sphere.”

“I bet they’re outcasts among you”, Elena said acidly.

“Afraid so. Most people with someone like Stephen in their family would rather keep them locked up inside. Which is why he never went to Hogwarts and was schooled privately.”

“Which is such a pity! They can achieve marvellous things, you know! In the United States, there is a woman called Temple Grandin who is an autist and she …”

“Elena!” moaned Severus. “You don’t have to prove to me that your Mr Periwinkle is special! It is really quite obvious.”

She shut her mouth and again stared at him in surprise. It was only when she looked into his unemotional face when she realized that Severus, too, was quite socially inept and didn’t function along lines that were generally considered normal. He certainly wasn’t autistic, but due to his personality he might have a higher tolerance for people like Stephen, might even prefer them to ordinary, constantly socializing folks. Plus, if anyone valued intelligence, it was Severus.

“You have taken a peek into his mind”, she remembered now.

“In fact I have. And there are a few things that I heard in the past and that put me into a position of patching things together.”

“I’m listening”, she said with rapt attention.

Severus took some time to collect himself before he started to talk. “I know a few things about Stephen Periwinkle’s mother”, he said after a while. “Her name was Maud. The only reason why I know about her – because she never went to Hogwarts, either – is because she wrote some remarkable essays about magical plants that are quite well known to any Herbologist. She was an expert in this way, though she lived as a recluse.”

“What happened to her?” Elena asked, sensing that something bad was coming.

“Killed herself”, Snape said curtly. “Well, at the time it was said that it was an accident. That she swallowed some plant poison or other. If you want to believe it. In my opinion, this wouldn’t have happened to someone who knew her way with dangerous magical plants so well. – Anyway, there were rumours soon enough that it was suicide.”

“Do you know why?”

“I didn’t. But I do know. – Like I said, Stephen may be a natural Legilimens, but not an Occlumens. When I brought him here, he was in very bad shape, hardly conscious, fantasizing … the accident with that Syrian flytrap set something off in his mind, the memory of his mother … anyway, I was able to read him like a book.”

“And?” She looked glum.

“Do you remember that Old Periwinkle’s motivation for hunting the Death Eaters is generally said to be that he’s somehow related to the McKinnons?”

“Yes, I do. Well?”

“Well, nonsense. Turns out he wasn’t related to them at all. That’s just a rumour he probably set into the world himself. The truth is that he had an affair with one of the McKinnon girls. Obviously, he fell head over heels for her and the girl got pregnant. The baby was never born because …”

“… because you guys happened first”, Elena finished, not meaning to be rude, but she already saw how the story was beginning to make sense and couldn’t keep the words inside.

“Er … yes”, Severus confirmed tersely. “Maud found out. Couldn’t bear it. Killed herself.”

Elena didn’t say anything for almost half a minute, merely stared at Severus. “So that’s Old Periwinkle’s dirty secret”, she whispered eventually. “The one that the Crowleys hold over him. Because if anyone found out that a guy working for the Ministry of Magic had an illicit affair with a young girl although he was married, and she got pregnant, too …”

“Exactly. It would be the end of him. Of his career, specifically.”

“Which he can’t let happen because he needs to avenge his love and unborn child, hunt Death Eaters, and he can only do that if he’s employed with the Ministry.”

“Hence, he’s open to blackmail. He even got his sons into it, that damn old idiot! Do you see now why I can’t feel any pity for him, no matter how worried he might be for his son right now?”

Elena nodded. She also thought about something else, remembered how Ansgard Periwinkle had asked the medium down in the crypt about something having to do with his wife, if she had known … Probably, he was still not able to admit to himself that he and his illicit affair had been the reason for Maud to kill herself. But it was weighing on his mind, which was the reason why he couldn’t help himself, had had to ask the young girl … Elena shook her head. The misery some people brought over themselves was beyond belief.

“I have no pity for him, either”, she said. “He doesn’t deserve to have Stephen back.”

“I’m glad you see my point. He has put his son through a lot, by his own stupidity and inability to own up to his mistakes. Stephen knows this very well and this is why, as far as I’m concerned, he can have sanctuary here at Hogwarts. Plus, if we have Stephen, this might just crack the nut that Ansgard Periwinkle is. We might get him to cooperate, and maybe this will be what we are going to need, in time.”

“Stephen probably reminds him of his wife”, Elena mused. “That must be hard. Love, guilt …”

“Complicated mix”, Snape growled and it took Elena a few seconds to realize that now he was also talking about himself and Lily.

They were silent for another minute, each of them chasing their own line of thoughts.

“Do you think”, Elena started eventually, “that there is a connection between Stephen’s autism and him being a natural Legilimens?”

“Maybe.”

“Because, you see, autism appears to deepen some tendencies and …”

“I really don’t know, Elena. I _do_ know, however, that Stephen would be a valuable ally to us. To the Order of the Phoenix.”

She looked up, excited. “Do you think you can get that past Remus and the others?”

“Yes”, he replied gravely and the sarcastic look on his thin face conveyed very well his opinion on ‘Remus and the others’. “I will talk to them tomorrow. In fact, you will come with me, tell them about your tonight’s adventure. Tell them about the predictions, explain to them that we have to safeguard the Ministry and St. Mungo’s against a possible raid …”

“But I can’t!” she interrupted him.

“Why?” Severus’ eyebrows drew together fiercely.

“You know why! I’m going home to Vienna for Christmas.”

“Tomorrow??” He looked as if he was about to turn angry.

“Yes! I told you this! I’ve been telling you for weeks!”

Severus’ face went blank. It was obvious that he had completely pushed this knowledge out of his mind. It was also obvious that he hated it. “Can’t you put it off?”

“No more than I can put off Christmas!” she cried.

“At a time like this!”

“Severus, I haven’t been home in ages! My parents will hate me if I don’t come!”

“There are worse things than parents that hate you.”

She scoffed. “Come on! Don’t tell me you cannot talk to the Order without me. Don’t tell me you cannot protect the Ministry or St. Mungo’s without me! I’m just a crappy witch. You’ll do fine!”

“But you can’t …” He broke off. Avoided her eyes, stared at the stone floor.

Suddenly Elena knew what he had been about to say. _But you can’t leave me_. Her cheeks started to glow.

“I’ll be back in three weeks”, she assured him, voice gentle. “Then you can tell me all about it.”

Abruptly, he got up from his chair. “Of course”, he said, but it was a hoarse growl.

Elena watched in fascination as he started to pace the room, still avoiding to look at her. She sensed that he had let out a feeling that he hadn’t wanted her to see and was now trying to regain his composure. It wasn’t a bad thing. In fact, she sensed that it wasn’t a bad thing at all, only that he needed space. Part of her wanted to go over, envelope him in her arms, kiss him, as they had after the dance at the Crowley Academy. The other part of her, however, felt his need for control, for dignity, and she respected that.

Slowly, she got up. “I have to go now. Sleep. And tomorrow, pack.”

“Sure.”

“You’ll take care of Stephen, won’t you?”

“Am I not doing that already?” Acid in his voice.

“Of course you do”, she said appeasingly. “I’ll write to you. Surely, owls fly across the Channel?”

“Where will you get an owl in Muggle Vienna?” he asked sarcastically, standing by the bookshelf, back turned to her.

“I’ll find one. Trust me.”

He shrugged. However, nothing about him exuded indifference. Elena smiled to herself. “Well, then. Good-bye.”

“Bye”, he murmured.

She went towards the door, the one through which he’d taken her in, trusting that she would find her way back. As she was halfway there, she heard his steps and a growled “I’ll see you out.”

In silence, they left the castle and walked back to the Apparition point. Elena had to call for Lux for quite a long time before he finally rushed out of the bushes, fur covered in snow, yellow eyes wild and excited. All the time, Severus stood by her side, musing, maybe sulking.

“Have a lovely Christmas”, she said to him.

“I hate Christmas”, he informed her.

Elena gathered up Lux in her arms. “Anyway. Have a good time. And be careful!”

“Alright.”

So that was it. He didn’t seem to be prepared to show any emotion. Yet, her pulse was racing irrationally and her cheeks were still glowing. She sighed and readied her wand.

“Elena”, Severus said suddenly.

“Yes?”

He cleared his throat. “Sorry about those dogs.”

Now she couldn’t help laughing. “Forget it. Thank you for rescuing me, rescuing _us_ , from that house!”

“Forget it.” And with that he turned on his heel and walked back towards the castle, shoulders hunched, head bent against the drifts of snow. He didn’t turn around even once before she Disapparated.

Yet, her heart sang.


End file.
